


Azure Moon: If I Wrote It

by Scorpinonymous



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd Needs a Hug, Felix Hugo Fraldarius Being an Asshole, Feral Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, It's Canon compliant but it also ain't, M/M, Male My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth Has Emotions, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Seteth (Fire Emblem), Restoration of Duscur (Fire Emblem), Slow Burn, Trans My Unit | Byleth, a really slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27184339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scorpinonymous/pseuds/Scorpinonymous
Summary: I cannot sugarcoat it any further. It's the whole Azure Moon route if I wrote the story, characters, supports, and additional chapters
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Seteth (Fire Emblem) & Original Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	1. Emotionally Lethargic by Daybreak

“I knew that after all of these years, I’d be haunted by you as well.”

If Sothis had told Byleth that this would be the five years onward after his presumed death, then everything would have been taken with more precaution. However, no amount of Divine Pulses would take back so much time allotted. Everything felt almost pungent to Byleth that it gave him headaches. Nothing out of the boy has changed, aside from his pale green hair flowing past his shoulders. To just come home to what would be called sanctuary by him after years of mercenary work encroached upon. That villager was right: it never looked the same. Just before heading to the walls of Garreg Mach Monastery, fighting looters in the heap of recovering nerves and confusion left a need to vomit. Throughout everything, Byleth still had a goal: to see his students. Even through the treacherous path home, surviving on the village’s scraps of food and water. If he was lucky, then wild game would suffice no matter how big or small. Even through delirium and having to ration out his vulneraries to just see straight. Even through seeing the one too many faces of Imperial soldiers broken within the Goddess Tower, disfigured, and ravaged beneath his feet walking up those stairs, he will see his classmates that changed his life for the better.

This, however, was a disgusting turn of events.

Being in a year at the monastery, Byleth would probably forget what people’s faces look like. Not this one; no amount of dirt and blood will not misshapen Dimitri. However, these five years were most definitely not kind to him. So much soot and blood coated his hair, which was more brown than his beautiful blonde color. The rising sun accented his skin, oily and with patches added with a side of dark circles. There was an outfit change on him, but it still permeated the stench of dead corpses and other unknown obscenities. Anything that will make a regular citizen heave out their organs, but Byleth has smelled worse in the past. He just did not think it would happen to the boy that was well-mannered despite his hardships. It could kill him, but still giving Dimitri a sense of humanity by extending Byleth’s hand out gave some hope. He could feel a rough grip as the man got up with the giant lance as a sort of cane. For only two seconds, Byleth felt at ease and would try to have a slimmer of faith to see if he remembers his long, lost professor. To look at that blue eye, it seemed dead. There was no soul in someone alive than this man standing before him. Speaking of such, he grew more the last time he has seen him.

“You,” the voice was not better when directed at Byleth, “what must I do to be rid of you?”

That question alone, though not showing on Byleth’s face, felt as if that same lance stabbed his chest a thousand times over. As if he was nothing but infected vermin. It did not look like his field of view was in order. Perhaps he, too, was hallucinating. Not even Dimitri's garbled words are in order, like a scolded child that did not do his chores. It was confusing for the two of them, but Byleth still wants to be reassuring despite his massive amounts of dumbfoundedness.

“Dima? It will be fine, it’s your Professor.” That was the alias that Byleth gave to Dimitri to soothe his nerves. Not technically for such deliriums as such in front of him, but to just ease him back to reality after certain panic attacks. In the old Dimitri, it made him smile and have a bit of joy that will never fleet. To  _ this _ Dimitri, it probably sent him into more panic and disbelief. To be fair, in Byleth’s case, everyone would have thought he died a painful death. From that collapsing cliff and never to be seen again. Or, at least, that is what Byleth actually remembers. Seeing a giant white dragon before being sent into slumber is still hazy in his mind.

“No...no you can’t be alive! You must be an Imperial spy!” His hands now directed at the lance in a threatening manner. “Answer me right now. Are you here to kill me?”

Everything felt like a feral wyvern attack. One after the other, it was certain that the Dimitri that Byleth knew before is gone. It was dwindling at any given point, but still had a beam of a smile that permeated his day. There was sadness, but there was also more discombobulation. Primarily being that he just got out of a coma and barely even thought that his students would be alive at all. Yes there was a prayer, but this still hit him like a freight carriage.

There was no other choice: he needed to speak to him as a mercenary rather than a professor. “I would have killed you with no hesitation if I were to be a spy. There would not be me holding your hand and calling you by a pseudonym only  _ I  _ know of; so no. Second, why are you in such paranoia of the Imperial army?”

Not even answering Byleth’s question, Dimitri only just grunted and walked past him. His lance not threatening but being held with such force and elitism. The new armor must be in high quality seeing that it could almost knock him square off his feet with a dull feeling of pain on his shoulder. If the armor did not almost send him flying, then the damned smell of a thousand hot piles of flesh on his fur pelt will do the trick. If not for inevitable death, then throwing a bucket of soapy water at the prince will be for better or for worse. Probably the latter.

Despite all of that. “I’m glad you’re safe” is the only thing that can be said towards Dimitri without Byleth’s voice wobbling over. It was all overwhelming to say the least, but to maybe say words of affirmation would do the trick. The chortle is making a compelling case.

“Am I really?” Probably not. Only the Goddess knows where Dimitri will be headed, with the footsteps of a lost soul on the street with no aspiration to live. And like a lost puppy following its owner, Byleth trailed behind him. 

The sun was still rising, but it never made the scenery look better. The walls are broken and rotting, along with the dead corpses of the soldiers. Unkempt moss spread around the corridor and rooms were disheveled. Not even the other professor’s rooms were untouched. Hanneman only had books flown around and Byleth knew that his valuables were in a secure compartment. If five years stood the test of time, then it is a miracle that the looters would get in such cryptic security. Manuela’s infirmary is the worst of it all. Broken or stolen vials of medicine and the usual display of a male skeleton was in various places of the room. Let them pray that none of culturally valued books were not harmed, which was what Byleth read if Manuela was sober enough to teach him how to perform healing magic. All of which was performed on either the skeleton or the bones of an injured student as breaking each other’s ligaments and joints were how he could fully understand how it all works.

And there it was: the Cathedral of Seiros. Might be the color of the stained glass, which makes zero sense as it has predominantly blue hues, but it all had an orange tint. Pollen and dust might have just permeated the air this severe, but the elephant in the room was the giant pile of rubble. Once the pillars and the roof have now reduced to concrete, broken brick, and pebble. All to make a mountainous heap, however, is a feat. The rest, so say the altar and pews, albeit broken and out of place, was unharmed. There was a lot of take in and a dredge of regret and anguish filled Byleth wholly. Perhaps if he thought rationally, he would not have fallen and would help Rhea from her anguish and probably take down the Imperial Army alongside Dimitri, Claude, and the church. Again, only the Goddess knows and he cannot hear her anymore. Speaking of which, they might probably be the only ones here at the monastery. No signs of Flayn or Seteth, not even the knights. Not even his students.

“Is this what happened after five years?” Byleth asks whilst not trying to inhale the smoky dust that flies around the cathedral.

Dimitri has yet to take a gander at Byleth with the feeling of broken reality. If he even knows what it is a dream or real life anymore. “This place is as dead as I.”

Suffice to say, the colloquialism is not helping Byleth trying to figure out what is wrong with Dimitri in the slightest. “Why do you say that?”

“What do you gain after asking such things?”  _ Something that isn’t vague _ , Byleth says to himself, “And do you smell the rats? They’re everywhere. In desperate need of treasure of the lost souls of long ago.”

Byleth pivots his head in the slightest angle possible to just see or smell what he means. Just rubble and the smell of that wretched cloak. Perhaps the rats means the bandits, but the amount of ambiguity still does not help.

“And I assume you have seen the town near Garreg Mach, haven’t you?” Dimitri inquires, “The village of vile bandits looting to their heart's content.” The town...yes, the place where the villager founded him. After saying that Byleth was rescued from the river. Which begs the question as to how long that river was and to even be still near the monastery? So many questions have given a lot of headaches for the mercenary. He did, however, answer a “yes” to appease the prince.

“I will kill them. Every last one. Take down their nest.” That quote alone, out of everything, did not affect Byleth in the slightest. He remembered Felix, the dark-berry haired ball of irate, has always mentioned as to “the boar’s true form”, It was always something brushed off as jealousy or even some unrequited feud they once had as children. Even chalked it up to survivor’s guilt. Now it all fits the puzzle and it mostly feels like ignorance to the mercenary. He should have known.

“And how will you do that?” Byleth questions to hear some more clarity.

First came a scowl as if his former professor had fallen on his head. “Did I stutter?”

Byleth really did not want to answer that, not even for fear of getting maimed by a human beast. Rather of letting ignorance fly free. At least with his case, which is to kill, but to have some point of strategy.  _ “Going knee deep gets a severed knee”, _ his father always told him as a growing adolescent. Talking more sense into the prince, however, would probably deliver more rage on the man. Really, keeping his mouth shut is the only best solution.

“Let me reiterate if you were too doltish,” Dimitri announces, which made Byleth stare at him appalled. Each of the prince’s words made him take a step towards him. “Someone must put a stop to this never ending cycle of madness. We cannot have the strong trample on the weak with no repercussions, pillaging and slaughtering those rats have done.” Now they were about two feet apart from each other, Dimitri leaning down as if he’s gazing at a lowly cattle. “Or do you condone their actions?”

Byleth, while having the last bit of effort to say no, had to take a small step away with his signature deadpan face. Not for his invasion of personal space, but rather that his breath just reeked of beyond the Underworld.

“Even if it means becoming a rat myself, they will know the true pain that they have inflicted upon the innocent.” With that, Dimitri was gone again. All of the interactions Byleth has had with him; the smiles and quality time they have had as his star student. They were all gone. There is no doubt that it left with the five years of grief. Just knowing that everyone thought he had died and could have been saved if not for unheeding to Rhea’s words.There was a new emotion Byleth felt: worthless.

___

Nightfall had come and the village was silent. That is to say there would not be an ambush. Bleak and obsolete, but there is little doubt there would be innocent civilians in grave danger. Byleth still has to keep his guard intact despite all of the ambiance. Dimitri, however, is a different story. The sinister chuckles have started to grow weary on the mercenary, but cannot be distracted by such madness. Stretching through the forests and just being in the line of view of the prince, it was dreadful to say the least. None of it matters now, what needs to be done are the bandits from inside. Even with great stealth, it feels inevitable.

“Enemy Intruders! Protect the valuables.” That is because it was.

The dark chuckles have now resorted into laughter, Dimitri lifting the lance to be gripped by such hands. “Shall we go vermin hunting, Professor?” Not even a time to answer nor even comprehend the quote in general, Dimitri charged head first into the first envoy of bandits, already seeing a fountain of blood spurting within the air. If looking closely, then organs would also be in the mix. There was no time to dally along in the midst of death.

Considering Dimitri took the right side of the path, it would be best (for his nose) to head left. These bandits are quite strong; strong enough to pack a punch on Byleth’s ribs. All there he could taste is iron.

It will not deter him.

Byleth will not stop until he has seen the bodies limp from their injuries. Even with a sword, there needs to be another option. His hands, gripping the jaws of the men and smashing their skulls onto the walls. The plant growth is painted with blood and bone fractures. 

His dagger, enough for short attacks. To slice the sides of their throats or shove it down their mouths to have them forcibly vomit. The Sword of the Creator to lash the foes with the spined fuller. Only to come back with teeth grazing his cheek with the recoiling terzo.

His legs were not alone on this, praising Shamir with hand-to-hand combat. The issue is that these gauntlets when punching are not made for such combats. Knocking them off their feet will only suffice before stabbing them. Byleth had only been in this same spot for a while, only striding away from the gruesome sights to hide in a tree. It had only been six people and his legs felt like screaming at him. After so long, his limbs felt so stiff. Who in the right mind would even try this nonsense? And after a coma of all events? But what matters more? Pain or survival? 

The rhetorical question still stands as Byleth tries to get up on his trembling legs. Thankfully the vulnaries numb all pained nerves, so having a quick chug makes things doable. As for the broken rib, another praise for Manuela for teaching him how to properly heal a wound. The downside to internally feel your bones move and squish from organs it is poking.

"There you are!" In the middle of Byleth's piss poor recovery, a bandit shows up with a steel axe. With him being on the other side of the man at five feet, it will not be that much to fight back. Only way is a defensive option. To just find a weak spot as all areas are covered in armor. One punch and his hand is done for. 

Where to go? 

Where is Dimitri? 

How can he even retreat? 

The questions were turning more into pleads as he felt a hot gash on his shoulder, making him fall with a loud cry of pain. His throat felt the color red. The hard soil is never a good cushion for the knees. Only thing that can be seen are the bandits steadying their legs as he heaves the large blade. There was genuinely no way out of this. After seeing the Monastery in shambles with a wagering battle, there isn't much to do.

˙sʇuǝpnʇs ʎɯ 'ʎɹɹos ʎןǝʌɐɹƃ ɯ,I

"Professor!"

His throat felt heavy in his stomach when he heard a voice. After that was a sight of a man falling down, dropping his axe miraculously inches away from him.  _ An arrow _ , Byleth observes,  _ that could mean… _

"Professor! Are you injured?" That voice was nothing like Dimitri at all, nor with the tone of concern. Much more high pitched, but he still needed to look. A young man with light gray hair and a blue-purple armor. Wait, that could mean—

"Oh no! Mercedes! Use Physic for the professor!"

As soon as Byleth regains an ability to get up, he takes one look at the boy as the ground around him glows green with white, glowing dust. That was definitely Ashe, but with a much toned face and kept hair floating upward. Everything was back to dark and his shoulder was healed. Only left with a deep scar and blood stains on his black cloak. But to see his freckled pupil alongside a bishop dressing lady was enough ease to last the mercenary for a long time.

"Ashe, Mercedes," Byleth whispers and gander at their developed faces. They were much more mature and lively despite current circumstances. No, just to see them alive before him is enough to make him almost smile. "While I'd love to chat," he starts but immediately amplifies his voice, "there's no time to be idle, let's get the stolen treasure and fight off these bandits!"

As soon as that was said, a hot ball of fire almost as large as the sun sprints past all three of them, including Dimitri, who was more than ready to scold all of them. Confusion was in the air for half of a second until torturous screams could be heard dangerously close by. Brick crumbling apart amplifying as well. All had a front line view of the bandits being burnt to disfigurement. Their legs are weak to stand up. Skin started to peel a silhouette. Even more shock and confusion until they saw an orange haired girl dressed in summer pastels waving from the entrance. "I'm your girl, Professor!"

"Out of everyone," Dimitri growls at the rush of cooling air, "and it's you to come alon—" His sentence was not even done as the same axe that nearly killed Byleth flew a hair past his face. Definitely not Annette but rather Mercedes and her wiggling arms before positioning herself to run towards the enemy as commanded. “Be nice, Your Highness!” She shouts a more sing-song tone as she is already gone. No words were uttered out of the shock, but they all adhered to her actions. Dimitri, even after five years, feared no man or deity other than Mercedes.

There were a lot more than just six bandits, though it should be a no brainer at that moment. Even then, all five of them have split up to be sure that no part of the village roamed of bandits. 

Dimitri, of course, by his lonesome battling off several people at once. Every inch of the lance dripped of blood. Down to the grip. A gruesome smile warped his face, as if killing the so called rats gave him a euphoria. The sloshing slice of men as they were hacked from existence was a sonnet to be heard of. 

Mercedes and Annette thankfully didn't have to do front line combat. As Byleth taught them with magic, "be offense whilst staying far away". He did not tell them that with magic, they would also have to get used to the scarification of someone's whole body. Wind spells are just knocking them high into the air until the enemy falls head first into solid matter. However, using spells such as fire or thunder would nearly cremate the body beyond repair. Do not get them started on Agnea's Arrow. 

Ashe and Byleth made sure that they were at a relative distance from the enemy. If they were at close range, then it was up to Byleth to use his sword to protect Ashe. They did not want to complain about the tedious work at hand, but all the other students felt like death is lingering in their system. They feel so outnumbered in the heaps of bandits that paranoia is starting to take rise. Out of every man they killed in their path, more came with it. Yes it hurt, but disappointing both Dimitri and the Professor by backing down is way too poor of their character. The three students can thank the heavens upon them to see a familiar pegasus– Maeve, Ingrid calls him– providing less weight on their shoulders.

Byleth follows Ashe, comforting his nerves after seeing a bandit twitch the last bit of soul from his body. The life of him fleeting quick as the arrow stabbed right in the aorta. A wall acting as a barrier, go figure, but can now hear a roar of a thousand voices. It can only be defined as trepidation for a few seconds before hearing a familiar voice. It was Sylvain leading a gambit, a personal battalion of sorts. Relief filled the two of them oddly as the sounds of pillaged men fell to the ground in agony. Even left the ground vibrating for a good while. They must be for the Church.

"Professor, there might be stolen valuables in this chest." Ashe then points at a chest covered with blood and broken bricks unharmed. To be sure that no one makes a surprise ambush, Byleth stands at the corner to be sure he is safe from harm. So far so good, and had yet to get a call that one of the students was injured. Throughout this massively heart throbbing skirmish that is here, it was all cathartic to know that each one of Byleth's students are not dead. Rather, fighting alongside him in this desolate dystopia that is Garreg Mach. Such emotions, but so little time to think about it that there goes his head swimming in pain.

Out of the look of his eye, before even having time to react, Byleth felt sudden thuds of brick and stone fall hard on his back. If anything, he can feel his spine broken in five and his shoulder dislocated. There wasn't enough room to scream, but him coughing out blood in excruciating pain will just do the trick. He was not dying, but that would be a less painful route than to watch Ashe yell in horror at someone whilst trying to move some sort of muscle. Nope, they were all painful.

"Felix, you bastard! How could you kill the professor!?" Never has more venom reached Ashe's tone of voice in the history of time. Even if accidental, Felix gazed at his result of carelessness not in petty rage but in repentance. Even Sylvain stopped his horse to stare in fear of impending death. They all looked too young to be stricken in fear and impending doom. It felt like death. To have his students watch over Byleth's paralyzing body with no time of action. By the time Mercedes even gets near them, then there will surely be a dreaded fate.  _ I’ll try again _ , Byleth manages to think that is not the blinding lights. He did not want to use any of the Divine Pulses unless there is death. In this case, Byleth, and probably someone else, has died with them. There is no other choice.

_ ‘ɹǝʌo ʇɹɐʇs llǝʍ sɐ ʇɥƃᴉW _

_. _

_. _

_. _

_. _

_. _

"Professor, there might be stolen valuables in this chest." Oh praise the Saints, it worked.

To prevent another mishap, Byleth, instead of going near that brick and concrete wall, stood beside Ashe as he picked the locks. Apparently, the stolen goods are either church valuables or useful weaponry. This one in particular had arrows in the chest, which Ashe more than definitely needs.

“I’m not that efficient with lances, but this will do,” Byleth admits as he holds a silver lance. Perhaps to be used as a form of defense, but nothing more.

Ashe hurriedly stuffs the arrows in his quiver. “It isn’t much, but whatever weapons that are useful is good enough—”

Speak of the Underworld once more as the familiar sound of collapsing brick and concrete fall behind the two, leaving heavy dust in its wake. No one could see, and it could have been an ambush that would have left them impaired. No, thankfully it was not. There he was: Felix with his spiked gauntlets and not remembering that he had multiple tears in his thighs. Sylvain, the red haired beauty on the horse, has joined the party as well with his Dark Knight armor.

“Felix, you dunce! You almost killed us!” At least Byleth is not dead.

Felix, as per usual, was hot headed at the comment, "I don't understand as to why you're pissed like the professor was bleeding on the ground!"

This is too much of paramnesia for Byleth's liking. He was ready to scold the two of them, three if you counted Sylvain trying his damndest to not have Felix kill his classmate, a blood curdling scream came within the distance. It was that of a tortured swine, nothing should come out of a human's mouth like that unless they are dying.

“Professor! Don’t let Pollardo escape!”

It was no doubt Dimitri and his wicked doings, having Byleth pick up the speed with his legs. His heart was ready to claw his way out. To run away and catch a break. No. Not like this. Take a breath at a time. Find his location from the maze of a village. To not let Pollardo– the merchant– escape. Wherever he is currently.

Not at his left.

Nor the right. 

Where is he?

Wait a horse!

Byleth skids on the dirt and grabs his sword. Every second counts. His body never had a weak spot, assessing his point of action. There it is. The horse is going straight at him. Just cut him from the hooves. The seconds of distance attack. 

One.

Five.

Seven.

With the recoiling crack, orange light blinded the man’s eyes and hair flowing past his shoulders. Everything is a blur from the way-too-powerful light bestowed upon the Goddess. The force in his arm is enough to take down five men. One can have faith if it is connected. However, he can hear the gripling bleat of the horse along with the screams of a man. 

There was blood on the blade, knowing it connected to something. No gallops in his ears rather than a rough skid on the dirt. Then there was a snap. No one knows what is happening as Byleth and the rest are trying to decipher from the dust. It was not until Maeve came down with Ingrid, hearing a faint gasp from up above to know that it did not look pretty. Even the impending gags of the other women seeing a grave sight.

Dimitri walks up to the now lifeless corpses. It was not the first that he has seen the entrails of a horse spill out. It did recall some unsavory things, but the one thing on his mind were the treasures. Blessed artifacts and weapons, gold that were older than himself, and even lost scriptures of the Goddess; it disgusted him. A man that he had put trust on years back to just slither into the lowest of human. To vandalize from the church and for what? Seeing Pollardo brought pleasure to him: his neck snapped out of place from a large rock. Only regret that he had was to let the man live to suffer longer, knowing that this was an instant death. But it is done. He must retrieve the items and get going.

"Your Highness." The voice spooked the blond for a second, nearly chalking it up as one of the demented voices. It was not. Gilbert– no– Gustave was not dead. He stood there nearly at eye level to him, clunking to his footsteps from the heavy armor. Only thing that changed out of the man was his hair out with white strands of hair. This was reality. It looked sickening.

"Welcome back." Even by Gilbert's words, it was not genuine.


	2. Reconciliation

If the sundial was right, then the time would be about 1 in the morning for the group. Many of the battalions, even Dimitri’s handpicked corps, retired as soon as they hit the Monastery. No one could blame them, but all of the Blue Lions class has shown up. The least they could do was say hello.

“If I may ask,” Dimitri pipes up, “why are you here?”

Everyone took a bit of offense. Not really with Byleth as he is still foggy with everything that is going on. The Monastery in ruin, his students grown up, and fighting those thieves are not helping with the headaches.

Ashe sheepishly picks his head up, “W-We were all going to reunite here at the Monastery. Remember?”

“Exactly, you were the one that proposed such, Dimitri,” Mercedes adds on. The look of annoyance and perplexity summed it all up, if not for his disheveled looks. They remember as old as time, exchanging letters and visiting when the routes back home were not war-torn.

“Your Highness,” Gilbert walks up to Dimitri and Byleth cautiously. “I have received the whereabouts of your location. I am relieved to see—"

"Do not call me that." The blond's words dripped with venom despite his still form. It did catch the guard off of his footing. "I am that but a mere walking corpse."

Byleth gravely wanted to roll his eyes at that comment, but kept composure along the way. The rest, especially Felix and his cunning smirk, have expressed shock.

Gilbert still had to say his mind, "That is what everyone else has said as well. My eyes do not deceive that you are alive, Your Highness."

It would make sense as to why Dimitri would say such things. Before presumably dying, Byleth always took care of the boy's headaches and aftermath of night terrors. The trauma of his family and friends, though it is long ago, merely a decade, it still affected him. His mannerisms and the way he spoke to people. Telling stories only to have it cut halfway as it brought back bad memories. And just yelling at Dimitri to take a break from exhausting himself– carrying wagons full of bricks for two hours in the Verdant Rain Moon heat– just to not jump back into the nightmares and fits of fear. Assuming from five years without a lick of Byleth's whereabouts, it made the trauma worsen over time. There is no sense of reality for him, assuming he died in the war or just disappeared.

"I will say," Gilbert observes, "the jail cells in Fhirdiad are quite impenetrable in the country. How did you even escape?"

"Dedue." That was the only answer. That made the students look around for a bit, as well as the professor darting eyes everywhere. No one noticed the absence, yet there still needed to be more answers.

"What happened?"

"Dead. He died in my place." Silence filled the air at the sudden news. Almost like it was yesterday, when awaiting his execution by beheading and dragged in the Faerghus blizzard, Dedue was in his eyes. His voice. His memory. He can remember when stepping foot onto the outside world once more, after hours of isolation and psychological torture, there was no sense of freedom or happiness. Only that of grief. Knowing that his friend and true brother after losing one too many of his loved ones has sacrificed his life for His Highness. He is dead. The Fhirdiad cells are not worth a second escape. There is no point in checking. It is written in the stars. It felt hopeless to know that everyone.

Absolutely everyone. 

Dead and he being the sole survivor. There was no reason to live on his own. There was no place to go home to as he is now a murderer. Garreg Mach is in ruin. Edelgard waging war with one foot in front of the other.

Edelgard.

The fucking bitch of a wasted potential that was Edelgard.

He will take down her head. For his family. His friends. Dedue and the fallen civilians of Duscur. Everything that he lost because of her, he will gain back at the cost of the Emperor's head.

There is only one reason to live.

No one in the group circle knew how to react to such horrid news. Ashe and Mercedes, the ones who have truly seen Dedue as a best friend, could not bear to even think straight. There was no way that they could even process this. It must be false, but with what proof? It pained them knowing that this will be five years without their best friend. However, they knew better than to cry before this man. It was Dimitri to them, but their gut told them to wait until they reached their dorms.

"We will be sure to honor his loyalty, then." And honor it, they would hope from the words of Gilbert. When they get things settled in the Monastery, they will have to make a memorial. There is hope that there will be some flower seeds from Duscur after so long. Everyone knew that the actual flowers should be as dead as him by now.

"As for the Kingdom, the lords have sworn fealty to the Empire, starting with House Rowe. Western Faerghus is now declared as the 'Faerghus Dukedom', whilst holding Fhirdiad as the stronghold." This a lot of information put on Byleth, and it has only been a mere several hours. His head needed sleep, but could barely do so. If he napped here, then that would be the last time his eyes were closed.

Sylvain, for once, spoke out about this topic at hand. "It isn't like  _ all _ of the lords have sworn fealty, Felix and I are the few who stubbornly opposed. However, this isn't about rations or money. Soldiers, we're fine with. But now that you're here, you are the last king of Faerghus that could help. We need your leadership."

"I see." Was the only thing Dimitri could muster up. No one can even read his emotions at all. Not his face, nor body language, or even tone of voice. "So now you've all come to light on how that bitch can't be forgiven. We must all wipe them from existence, not a single one of them remains."

"Wait wait! Isn't that a bit excessive?" Byleth had to stare down at Annette without moving his head, blindly fearing as to what the man would say or do. Even by looking at her professor's face, knowing what she said might bring turmoil, she left a squeak with hands covering her face. Nothing came out of their expectations. Only more than a groan of disapproval and walked off like the first meeting.

Nothing was said for at least two minutes, making sure that Dimitri was out of sight and from a far distance. That gave Ashe a time to crouch to his feet and sob quietly. It would be a great offense, in Ashe's perspective, to express such inappropriate emotions. That was then and even now, making sure that the prince would never dare to look at him so vulnerable. Mercedes and Annette joined him as well, doing their hardest to comfort one another. The rest can only stand solemnly as they now have reunited the worst ways possible. Gilbert, not wanting to hold up anyone's time, dismissed everyone to retire as the grief and tiredness grew on everyone.

Everyone except Byleth.

"Professor, if you may, please meet me in the Knight's Hall once the sun rises."

That was the only obligation that Byleth truly agreed on. Everyone walked in a group to the dorms, with Byleth beside Ashe as he weeps within the navy handkerchiefs one could have. Felix was not always the most patient with him, nor anyone, so him walking away from the group to the noble's dorms put him at ease that did not involve him snapping at a boy grieving the loss of his best friend. Sylvain, despite his room being there, stood with the rest of the group as he still wanted to console Ashe and Mercedes, who too has begun shedding tears.

It took everyone an hour to sleep in their respected dorms. An added fifteen minutes while crying in their sleep.

___

The Knight's Hall is as messy as the rest of the Monastery. The grass was no more than yellow in the eyes of the rising sun. More overgrowth covered the pillars and the classrooms were flipped upside down with desks and skeletons all over the place. This feels more of a jest rather than what is happening now. Someone has to be pulling the ropes on this situation, but none is the case. Byleth did not have time to wake the other students, knowing that they would rather stay in bed or take their time to not stomach in the fool's paradise they sunk their feet upon.

There was Gilbert, in a chair beside the desk with another set for Byleth. There were no words exchanged when arriving, but to sit down and embrace the comforting silence.

"Have you slept soundly?" Gilbert asks, wanting to ease the tension.

Byleth can only furrow his eyebrows at that. "I've been comatose for five years, so all of this is still hazy. Other than that, I've slept better than the students."

"I've noticed. Dedue's death is quite of a shocker to us all. That boy was always a gentle soul, showing true loyalty to His Highness." One can only imagine Ashe and Mercedes waking up. It must be difficult to even bear. "That and such rubble, after a fall like that, it is but a mere oddity to survive with a few scratches."

Byleth still takes notice of his hair, now seeing it sitting on his collarbone and obscuring his vision. Albeit longer than Dimitri's hair, but not at all greasy looking.

"It's a strange occurrence for myself as well," Byleth admits. Assuming that with the Goddess's blessing, it would create immunity for him at the cost of a periodic healing. Either way, it still had not turned back time to fix the errors of their ways. There are so many questions for each other, but it will never be answered. "However, where are the Knights of Seiros? There are battalion soldiers, but not the leading commanders."

Gilbert slides his arms from the desk and sits more upright. "On that day, five years ago, Lady Rhea had disappeared as we fought Imperial troops. Since then, we have continued search parties for her whereabouts. You as well. Though it is believed that with a lack of trace from both the archbishop and the Empire, we have yet to conclude if she is even dead."

"As for the Kingdom?"

"...An event happened in Fhirdiad. King Rufus, Dimitri's uncle, was murdered. I have resigned from the Knights and have served the Kingdom once more. However… Cornelia has stated that Dimitri himself has killed the king in such an atrocity. Saying that after the King conspired to the regicide was a catalyst to off his own blood. Even  _ I _ would not believe such malarkey. But even then… it was too late. The royal bloodline of House Blaiddyd was erased and we watched the Kingdom eat themselves apart day by day. 

"Since the corpse was concealed from the public eye, many have believed that His Highness was still alive somewhere with a hint of rumors."

Byleth was quite curious about that last part, "Rumors, you say?"

"Indeed," Gilbert acknowledges, "an Imperial platoon attacked without warning. All have been murdered within the Kingdom soil. This has been going on for years, with each of a hundred soldiers slaughtered by gruesome hands that were not of a human's."

"Yep, that's Dimitri," Byleth snickered, with the same coming from the guard.

"...But after all of these years, I have found him." There was a hint of pride coming out of Gilbert. As that of an estranged child reuniting. That all did not mask the immense regret. "I fear that all of these years of solitude and cynicism have morphed His Highness for too long. Even I know that it will not be an overnight miracle, but to just grasp him from the dark. It is much we can only do as of now."

But what is there to do? It is certain that no one can just call him over and start a conversation about this. No one knows of his location, but certain that he is somewhere within the Monastery. There is so much to do, but Byleth's headaches are not letting him have it at this hour. Perhaps resting is the only thing they could do.

Gilbert excused the mercenary from the vicinity, taking in the abrupt scenery once more. It still looked grotesque to the eye; barren as it all can be. This is what fictional tales would describe a war-torn environment.There was no music, no laughter, and certainly no amount of student yapper. Byleth, at first, was not used to crowds and academies such as this place when first arriving. Even said towards the three house leaders when they first met that he was nomadic. There was no allegiance to anyone; the Kingdom, Empire, nor Alliance. With the exception of referencing Jeralt’s old tales of Faerghus before creating his own company, there was no place to call home other than Remire. A sheltered boy from the outside world and could only be in a location for days at a time before heading off for more missions. Byleth learned from experience and books given as a token of appreciation. If lucky, then the other mercenaries he grew up with taught him how to read and write. Other than that, the idea of being in a secluded territory with no other place to go estranged him. Now that he sees what he took for granted, Byleth oddly misses it. The tea parties, cooking competitions, and fishing with his old man.

_ The times are gone _ , Byleth says to himself. Despite the weight on his chest, his legs never gave a reason to falter.

“Professor!”

That was certainly not any of his students. Not as mature as that voice, really. But Byleth turned around, seeing a familiar face speed-walking towards him. With green hair tied into a low ponytail and sporting the same purple attire, though quite worn out. Yes, it truly was Seteth. After so long and he knows that the man would be relieved. Byleth's hypothesis proved correct as he felt a tight hug coming from the man. As if he had found his child after so long. Despite feeling drenched from the exhaustion, his noses picked up an earthy oak smell that soothed his nerves. He was home, somewhat safe and sound.

"Eh, forgive my brash actions. It's just...it's been so long and we finally found you." His voice has stayed the same as everyone else. Speaking of which, he has come to notice the rest of the knights approaching the two, including Flayn. She did not have those twin-tails anymore, still curly, but now with small, low pigtails with a floaty dress. Almost like a porcelain doll of sorts. The rest were the same as ever, like nothing changed within them. Manuela and Hanneman have slight changes in appearance, but it is still a blessing to see their glowing appearances. Alois, Shamir, and Catherine are still in their typical getup. Whilst Cyril is just….

"Okay, Professor, why the weird face?" Even his voice has matured.

Byleth composes himself after the long stare, "It's been five years and you look like a grown man." It was a pleasure to see the boy blush, flustered.

Alois, aside from Seteth, showed no boundaries by holding Byleth tight in his arms that he was lifted from the ground. Thank Goddess that he did not wear heavy clad armor; otherwise his bones turn to ground coffee.

"Gilbert has told us everything about you," Hanneman announces, "from here on out, we will be in your stead."

Byleth had just touched the ground below him as he said that. It was noticeable that he was not sure of what was implied.

"As in for the Knights of Seiros, in Lady Rhea’s absence, you will give us the command," Catherine added. Now it made much more sense. Not showing it, Byleth was quite overwhelmed to say the least. Sure, he has commanded his students and has handed down Jeralt’s mercenaries posthumously (their whereabouts still unknown). But to lead the territory's largest army? All on his command? There was a lot to work on.

Nonetheless, Byleth was truly the last true hope, "Understood. Though we have a lot to discuss in the moment."

"There are two objectives here with the Knights: overthrowing the Empire and saving Lady Rhea. Since we are all on the same terms, I have no reason to object," Seteth answers. There was no doubt about it. The empire that has destroyed almost all of Fodlan. Desecrated the church and everything that it loved. Broken the psyche of the students seen and unseen. What not to object? "While in that topic, I am certain that Lady Rhea trusts her obligations to you, Professor."

"That's reassuring," Byleth states. In reality, this was a lot to take in. "Then again, having this as our base may be much of a notice to the Imperial army."

"That is true," Catherine admits, "she does have this place under surveillance."

"Either way, we have war funds and the nearby villages. Besides, the people of Abyss are already overwhelmed with the refugees," Shamir implores.

The Abyss…then Yuri must still be alive. Balthus, Constance, and Hapi are safe and sound, right? He must see them afterwards.

"What do you think, Your Highness?" Cyril questioned.

Byleth twitches his arm in shock, seeing Dimitri standing beside him. Nothing was reassuring about it. He felt like vomiting near the man and not because of his stench.

"Do as you please." Not even that voice could be comforting.

Byleth mustered up the last bit of composure he had to speak to the knights. "That being settled, we will meet more on the council at a later time. I will inform Gilbert as to when he wants us to discuss our next move. While the students are here, I will assign them tasks to clean up the Monastery in our free time."

"How carefree," Dimitri asserted.

There was not any fear, rather annoyance. "Well, Your Highness, patience is key as of now. Besides, I had enough taking in ghastly scenery before me."

Byleth really did not have the gall to look at that man, but knew that with his words gave a glare that would kill him in his sleep. The double entendre was nothing more but the truth as this place needed to be cleared from debris. Everyone took a bit of shock with Manuela trying her absolute hardest to not show any sign of laughter.

"In any case," Hanneman tries to clear up the air, "we will inform Gilbert of our next council. Professor, I will leave the student's assignments to you."

"I will also escort you to where you need to go," Alois jumps in before Byleth could speak. He really did not need to. For Byleth, no bodyguard is necessary to get him around. But by that face, which was a rarity for Alois to be so serious and stern, he will comply.

Everyone has split up to their respective areas, whilst Alois walked Byleth from the courtyard. Truly strange as he strictly looked at him before turning around with caution. Never wasting one second to keep looking at Byleth until the coast is clear. Apparently what Byleth had said, it scared the man that Dimitri would attack. Probably, but it is out of sight and out of mind as of now. Yes, the boy should watch his mouth, but what is the point of being nice?

"Wait! Professor!" Byleth turns around to see Flayn on her two heels towards them. It was precious looking, almost like a fairytale princess with the way she holds her dress in place.

"Anything you need, Flayn?"

"I wish to see the other classmates with you as well."

Wait, "How did you know I was headed to the Abyss?"

"Don't you remember?" Flayn exclaimed, "We visited there so I could see Constance and Hapi! That is if my brother was not looking."

He remembers now. It took a while to convince Seteth that it was for volunteer purposes, but it was to really catch up on their magic skills. Either during the day when Seteth was not looking or at an overcast when Constance was not having an episode.

"Oh the Abyss?" Alois sounded more frightened than concerned. "I just wanted you to not face His Highness's wrath. It felt like I was going to die back there!" The knight was not always the most brave in certain situations. He can face death in the name of the church, but to stare at death incarnate and be in an underground cavern is somehow an issue.

It did not matter, thanking Alois for saving Byleth's skin. The two have continued their walk to the Abyss with Flayn recalling what was being done throughout the five years. Working tirelessly throughout five years in search of him and Rhea. Assuming for the reason being that since Rhea is gone, there is no official to reign the territory; but you cannot hold the Monastery in place without Byleth as the understudy. Which goes to question: why not Seteth? He has as much experience as an advisor to the archbishop. Not to call the man useless, but the shoe is in the foot. It was still a reliever to see her all jolly and excited to cook more seafood recipes once the chefs are back. Collecting recipes in a little booklet to try and recreate. Byleth is not sure as to if she heard about Dedue, but it is best to not ruin the mood.

Abyss had that sickly smell of smoke. It was not tar or tobacco, but almost ancient. And ancient indeed after catching Flayn sneeze once and twice.

Here comes the guards with their spears. The first encounter, Flayn would typically scare herself to death. Now they are more used to it by waving them off. "Apologies, Mr. Eisner."

"I told you, just call me Byleth."

"Very well, Byleth. Yuri and the other students are awaiting your arrival." He would hope, after being gone for so long. If anything, he'll be getting Yuri an earful for leaving his post. On the other hand, he will finally get to see his good friend after so long. By everyone's new appearances, Yuri will either look absolutely gorgeous or will cut his hair off entirely. Byleth wishes it was not the latter.

Abyss was still where he left it. Aside from the obvious overflowing population, it was the mysterious place that he taught the misplaced orphans in his spare time or bought questionable weapons that were sturdy for the students to take to battles. Do not tell Seteth or Catherine or they will have a festival about taking in suspicious weapons. The ruins were kept up to code with cleaning and by the sounds of laughter and charter, there was no sort of anarchy in the midst.

"Aye sweetheart!" Byleth instinctively rolled his eyes as he could recognize that voice. Every one that Byleth taught, they all huddled in tales with homemade looking food and ale. Dorothea, Marianne with Hapi, Caspar and Raphael with Balthus, and Yuri turning from Constance to give Byleth a warm hug. Not usual for someone like Yuri, but them being on good terms made much of a difference. Even after five years, Yuri looked as beautiful as can be. And of course, everyone had their hair long, looked regal, or both. Even now, Balthus and Raphael need a new shirt their size.

"I see you copied my look?" Yuri chuckles as he takes a hand at the mint colored hair still on his shoulders. "And that you need a bath."

"I got back from a coma and battling bandits, my nose understands the premise," Byleth retorts.

Yuri could not help but to give the professor a (seemingly harmless) peck on the cheek. "Well it's good to have you back, Professor. I got scared that you were caught by the one eyed demon."

Flayn, not leaving Byleth's side, got curious. "The one-eyed demon? You mean Dimitri?"

Yuri looked shocked at best. "One-Eyed Demon" was the moniker, huh? It fit the shoe with the man. Although no one would suspect a prince with benevolence and a jovial attitude would murder in the thousands in a span of three years.

"I'm guessing he's with us?" Yuri queries.

Byleth scoffs, "I can write a novel about what ensued."

"I'm all ears."

___

Two weeks have passed; for the better is a broad answer. The council has done their orientation on what to expect for the meetings. Making sure no bandits or monsters are near Garreg Mach or any territory, discuss war funds and rebuilding nearby villages, provide aid for the soldiers and mercenaries, and provide care for refugees discussed for an hour and a half every Monday morning.

The Monastery thrived with civilians and animals once more (thankfully hypoallergenic for Yuri’s sake). The chefs were back to their gears on cooking food with the best seasonings and ingredients that were either rationed, traded, or harvested. It is not much due to the war rations, but can thankfully manage what they can provide. Although for two weeks, it was either game, fish, or veggies. If lucky, then actual meat that was handled with care was sent. Work is being handled with that of students or the local burly men of the refugees or village help with cleaning rubble and fixing residency. The lost and found has been overstocked with priceless valuables. Some family relics even stood the test of time with coins, jewelry, books, one can name with more than two hands. Byleth, one that does not carry that much valuables, was shocked to hear a couple things in the lost and found: Jeralt’s journal and the painting that Ignatz was commissioned to do. Garreg Mach is a utopia for looting, it truly was. There was no crying in finding such priceless material, but it made the bit rest easy to finally remember his father's face.

As for the greenhouse, Mercedes, Annette, Ashe, and Marianne did their damndest to make it look beautiful again. Alongside Flayn, who has done her fair share of grief not long ago, the building was weeded out and recovered lost agriculture and flowers. The left side for the vegetation, where tomatoes and rice were a hot commodity. Even coffee and cocoa seeds either ended up stolen or not ripe enough to cook. So much so that Byleth had to join in an agreement to have another area within the Monastery’s walls to provide a place to cultivate food. Thankfully, a food merchant was more than happy to have his home’s yard be a prime area to cultivate rice, chickpea, and other root vegetables. A blessing that the man can fight as many brave souls wound up bruised. To the right stood the many flowers one could find in Fodlan. The forget-me-nots and the baby’s breath were of Byleth’s favorite, always hearing from Jeralt and Aelfric that his mother loved those flowers when the Garland Moon came near. Even when burying her properly next to Jeralt, the seeds of the baby’s breath were buried between them with added Gypsum soil mixed in between. Of course, they had to be of the green-blue strain. The middle of the greenhouse was in commemoration of Dedue. Duscur flowers, while very rare, were reasonably pricey. With everyone’s pitched-in coins, and the heckling of Ashe’s bargains, they have managed to provide a few seeds and pre-grown flowers. All in dedicated work to be sure that the lilies and proteas were in the proper quality of soil and watered with exact direction. It is all to keep Dedue’s name within the Blue Lions. Though many of the Monastery would like to keep the situation silent, more that of bystander necessities rather than keeping the peace, the Blue Lions would most definitely not want to stand a chance of forgetting their old friend. Though a gray topic to talk about the culture of death in Faerghus, it is the only time where everyone was on-board with honoring someone. Though Felix would argue that Dedue did his job as a vassal to the Prince, he would much keep it to himself. Not out of honor, but Ashe can pack quite a punch for a little boy.

Everyone saw the greenhouse except Dimitri.

It would be a no-brainer for them to just see him in the Cathedral sitting in the pews for hours in silence and in the forests at night only to come back when morning arose. Either to kill nearby bandits or find wild animals that the cooks and merchants could potentially use. That is only if a chunk of a bear was not chopped off or it was decomposing to the point where one false move could bring home an entrail pinata. It was messy, but no one can complain about the king’s deeds, so long as he does not harm the members of the church.

No one dares to speak to the prince. Either with guttural answers of "go away" or empty threats to strike down whoever dare come near him. So his longtime friends could not suffice, even shocking Felix. The only one that could properly talk to him was Gilbert, who also got the same treatment.

"Why do you not want to see Dedue's memorial?" The elder asked.

Dimitri could only answer, "His cries will be louder if I stepped foot there."

Not an act of cowardice, but fear itself. The ghosts are more relentless than five years ago. The nightmares only give him, at most, three hours of sleep with the rest of the days and nights consisting of his father's scorn. His stepmother called him worthless and a disgrace to the Kingdom. Glenn and Dedue, actually not being discourteous, could only ask him "why?" Why does he hate Edelgard so much? Is this all worth it? Will it appease his family? Will it appease them? They grew anywhere but softer, tying imaginary ventriloquist strings to control his being. He was disgusting. A waste of Lambert and his efforts to protect him. Not even worth energy as Dimitri's body, though muscled in a sense, was still weak with a lack of nutrients and nearly died of infected fish and raw human meat. It is a blessing that he is alive to tell the tale.

Byleth, as of now, looked through the remnants of Jeralt’s old journal entries. Things shocked the mercenary as his father never mentioned the decent sketch of a flower and of his mother's face. Some unsavory things Jeralt mentioned of his late wife, which Byleth had thrown away or scratched off in disgust. Despite all of that, it was clear that the man loved his mother to death. Regardless of limited whereabouts to be in, entries were full of his love for her. Especially this one entry:  _ I was never the one to partake in any ball, nor any pompous waste of crap ever. But to see Sitri in that beautiful dress.  _ (A part of the entry redacted off for Byleth's sanity) _ And she would always make this stupid wish. About the Goddess granting everlasting marriage to the couple that stood before it. An occurring tradition by that bastard in the Empire, but I did it anyway for her sake. My wish was to be with her forever. It sounds foolish, knowing her health, but she did make his Monastery bearable to live in the past fifty years now. Now here I am, probably seventy-something. The wedding at the Goddess Tower will be in a few months. I will forever be the happiest man with this woman _ . 

Even before his birth, there were some entries that spoke of tales of long ago. Byleth has asked for a reference of his father's age. Not to heckle the man, but fishing and hiking were the only times out of Sunday off that they could do something together. That and since Byleth has noticed that nobles took on middle names, there was curiosity in the air. Perhaps hidden royalty from a province in Faerghus? Or maybe adopted in a way by nobles? Though Jeralt could not remember his parents for the life of him, only his mentor that passed on so long ago had taught him how to read and fight in exchange for food during the Crescent Moon War of 901. Suffice to say, Byleth did compliment the man's ageless appearance in exchange for laughter. His own father is a centenary and, by the looks of the dates, Byleth should be twenty-five by now. That could only mean he had met Sitri in, at least, his "eighties". Then how old was his mother?

And if Rhea could give blood that could grant immortality, who is Rhea? That white dragon? 

Then how could his father be killed so easily?

Where were the ones that slithered in the dark?

"Byleth! Byleth, are you in there?"

The sound of Gilbert's voice was too shaky to not get up abruptly to see him. The loud knock on the door almost made it seem like an ambush. The color in his skin flushed away and trembling fingers attempting to calm themselves. That did not skip the look of his usual rat-tail in an oddly messy loop. Something was not right if the knight himself looked  _ that _ unkempt.

"Gilbert, calm yourself!" Byleth could speak that for himself, "What happened?"

"Imperial troops...they are headed for Garreg Mach. I have already alerted His Highness and the others. Come with me!"

_ Imperial troops...oh no. _


	3. The King is Dead (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just very fucking sad, just to let you know. It will get better in later chapters, I promise
> 
> TW// mentions of cannibalism, torture, ED, r*pe?, and thoughts of suicide

Randolph von Bergliez, the General of the Imperial army. Many have asked Caspar if he ever so wanted to deal with this. That when in battle, he will have to take down his relative. He has broken away from the Imperial army, even suffering the wrath of his own father calling him names and tearing him down by the use of his brother's words. He is used to it, but it is Caspar's own cause. If he wants to break free from House Bergliez and take down his family, then he shall.

Now it just feels like disgrace and embarrassment to look at the defeated general. The town looks like how it was before the war. The demonic beasts still disintegrating into ash that masked the smoke. Everyone's ears rang as massive chunks of earth and lightning came hard on the ground. It looks disgusting, seeing the thousands of men, Knights and Imperial alone, either wounded or dead. The latter being imprisoned if survived and euthanized if on the brink of death. The several flames that had rained through the sky were still active, albeit tamed. That did not mean the whole ensemble was not injured either. The flyers have whiplash as per usual, archers with arthritic pain and dug finger skin, and Caspar and Raphael with a tourniquet. It looked disgusting when they dealt with the Death Knight reappearing all of a sudden. Caspar got the worst of it with his ulna bone poking out. Byleth, on the other hand, is now a mercenary with a crooked shoulder. There was still some humanity in the beast of a man, wanting to save Byleth from said flames, but the crest of Blaiddyd barely did a tenth and still had the Professor wail in red searing pain.

It truly did not deter Dimitri, covered in blood and dirt. A shocker that after five years of being a war criminal, no wound infections or amputated limbs were in sight. The bloody lance in his hands as he stood over Randolph. Alive, no doubt, but his injuries would make a slow death. His face wet with tears and snot as he blubbers for help. There was no help. The help either retreated or died. He was all alone. Once a confident man that led an ambush of thousands now seeing death hovering right before him.

"Please…don't let me die here. I have family waiting for me."

Pitiful. Disgusting. That a slaughtering pig such as Randolph would beg for mercy at a time like this. That with no help, no weapons, cornered like prey, and he cries to his mother. What about the several lives at the cost of his words? The men, women and children that he violated and pillaged in the name of justice? The absolute audacity of this vile beast.

"How amusing of you to prattle about your family," Dimitri fumes. Caspar was a few yards from where he was looking, and Dimitri knew fully well. Byleth, Gilbert, all of his friends there. There was an audience. A witness. The dead must have their tribute, and it will surely be through this man first. Not through Edelgard, "sadly", but to take away her henchmen to weaken her more. They will know that the beast had a goal.

"As if you know about love! As a heartless monster, in fact!"

"Tsk…as if you're better than me. Not yet realizing your depravity. A monster who thinks he is man." Dimitri picks up his foot, forcibly stepping his blood, dirt, and years old grime ridden boot on Randolph's face as he gags for mercy. The mud markings going up his nostrils with no airflow made quite a cough.

"Despicable. You must have killed countless souls without a shred of mercy."

His boot coming off his face to see more mud on Randolph's weeping eyes. Then a few seconds came a searing red wail. One that felt garbled and raw as sounds of bones break in several pieces. His knee. There was no blood, but it was enough to make Caspar flee with the last remaining sanity he had. His family. All being torn down. Such war. Such violence. Such cannot be stopped.

"Do you still remember the sound of them begging, just as you're begging now? Or, now that your life is at its end, will you hold to the lie that your hands are not stained red with blood?"

Dimitri crouches down to hold Randolph's face. He can only fantasize at how much pain can a man sustain. How much blood can pool from his body? How many souls did he take to the exact last digit? How many tears of suffering will mask his lies? And why is he making an attempt to speak through the pain?

"I-I…had to do this. For the Empire. For the people. For my family…"

"Oh look at you," Dimitri fake pouts, "piling corpses for the people and your family. And I am doing the same for the salvation of the dead... After all is said and done, we are both murderers."

Two fingers near Randolph's eye. "Both stained."

A bleat of screams, feeling leather in his eye socket. "Both monsters."

"That's enough! Please! Enough of this!"

Footsteps were in the midst, but it did not stop the depravity of Dimitri's pleasure. Practically moaning at the torn optic nerve. The man shall feel the pain of the One-Eyed Demon. One who is haunted by the dead and blind with salvation. The never-ending screams of torment. More blood pooled on Randolph's face, too scared to realize the burning pain and to just cry for his sister. His dear sister. Fleche. He will not make it home tonight. He's sorry. He failed.

The last cry of pain seared his lungs. Blood. Blood pooled on the ground and dripped from the Sword of the Creator. What makes the beast think that torture as gruesome as this should be tolerated? Even Gilbert, how dare he just stand there with an agape mouth and frozen stature? It is done. It is enough. It is no more.

"What is the meaning of this?"

To stare at Dimitri in the eyes in such depravity felt like staring at death incarnate. One blink and you will surely be the next counted body on the battlefield. Dimitri did not look like he would attack, but this man (can anyone even call it that?) would be unpredictable.

Byleth still needed to be assertive, "Do you truly believe that I would bear to watch that?"

Silence filled the smoky air. There would be no other foreground noise for anything. Even Dimitri's face has changed. Byleth can swear on his own life that he had seen the Dimitri that he once knew and loved. Those innocent eyes that beamed with joy and earnestness. Gone. In shambles as a demented cackle the students knew too well has shone light.

There was no hope.

"A grievous error, Byleth!"

That name.  _ His _ name. It should never be rolled from his lips. Those are the dead using them. The disgusting monster was not Dimitri. Even when walking in front of him, casting a shadow onto his face. The smell permeating once again.

"The Dimitri you once knew is dead. All remains is the blood-stained beast that stands before you."

It had only been a mere second. Just one second. The pain was quickly numbing, tearing a cry of agony from Byleth's lips. Not without the rushing bile that coughed from his throat, spilling on the newly potted flowers. It burned. When he wanted to breathe, all that came was a putrid brown and green hue. The feeling of blood seeping through his cloak. This damned Enlightened One garment. This could have been seemingly prevented. All he could do was to lean on the brick flower bed wall, clutching his stomach for some sort of relief. Anything to stop the bleeding.

"If you do not approve of my actions, then kill me!" Such large hands engulfed Byleth's hair, seeing the very face that Randolph had made in his final minutes. Tears and blood with vomit coating his chin and chest. Desperately grabbing onto the tightened fingers to put him down. Please put him down. He is not a child. He does not weigh like a cat. It hurts. Byleth can feel the patch of hair pulled from his head. Please let him go. Dimitri please let go.

"If you do not wish to do so, then I will continue to use you  _ and _ your friends until the flesh falls from your bones."

More footsteps came in wake of Dimitri getting into Byleth's face, seeing the look of fear that painted the weeps of tears and ugly coughs. "If you truly wish to see your lovely Dimitri, then there's a pile of rubble awaiting to cushion your anguish—"

A millimeter.

Just a mere millimeter. And it just merely grazes his skin. Byleth cannot bear to even see clearly. The Monastery spins before him as his ears are on the verge of ringing. What is even the point when Byleth will just die here? What is even the point of Divine Pulses when none of this can be prevented? To die at the hands of this beast. He has seen everything. He has reunited with his students. There is nothing much to do anymore.

"Let him go." Yuri. He has never been so stern with his words that there were no bits of sarcastic humor. Only once, but rarely in front of Byleth. The man that will throw a stray dagger at the prince, not to kill him, but to just simply put him down. He is so happy to hear that voice– that familiar voice– as the ringing is deafening.

"So you're bold enough to kill me."

"Let him go, Dimitri. That is all I ask."

Byleth has lost all function of his senses. The world numbing around him. Closing in.

_ "...the king is dead, the king is dead. You will meet a fitting end for the king is dead." _

___

It had been a myriad of two days. Every opinion and conflict merged upon Garreg Mach. Should they protect the prince or assassinate him? The condition for Byleth was severe at the time. The left arm Dimitri left dislodged to get him out of Randolph's reach resulted in an arm brace. Even then, his shoulder was crooked. His intestines perforated a hole that it nearly sent the man into sepsis. Manuela cannot just do the whole job alone, thankful to have other junior medics and Mercedes to help ease the procedure. With all of it said, it was clear that any conflicting opinion against Dimitri's was a one-way ticket to the next grave. Even by Gilbert and Seteth's sharpness, anything to keep both him and Byleth in preserve without them mauling one another would do great.

As for Byleth, he would love to stab Dimitri in the stomach and forcefully feed his entrails to him in a heartbeat. The two days have been nothing but uncontrollable sobbing. With Yuri, being the one true friend he has, trying his best to tend to his wounds and soothe his tears. Eating has become much of a struggle with his intestines perforated; only sticking to soups, sauces, milk, and broths. Manuela can only do so much for a hundred wounded soldiers. There were priests and junior medics, but they did need a leader at best. It was not comfortable to cut open Byleth, who was an hour away from death.

So here they lay, as dusk began to form. The last of the students, mainly Sylvain and Caspar sending condolences, on their way back to the mess hall for supper. Manuela checked any bit of other trauma in Byleth's stomach, using healing magic. Since Manuela and Mercedes were the only ones to know how to do Divine Healing touch from their hands, it can be daunting at a time like this. The glow from the Professor's skin does not seem to burn her hands, which detects abnormalities. With Yuri taking a close look, he can see the ends of nerves that can only be gazed upon in cadavers. The nerves that burned Manuela’s fingers were quickly grown back together.

"Also, Byleth…" Manuela chimes in. The hint of concern molds her face together. The two were in our for the announcement.

"Is there anything wrong with my organs?"

"No no, they are still in stable condition…it's just that.."

Now with furrowed brows to her image, the two were antsy with the explanation. If not his organs, then what?

"Did Jeralt know about you…having female genitalia?"

_ Oh that was what? _ Byleth thinks. "Yes. He always told me that mom and him didn't know whether they wanted a boy or girl, so both."

The somewhat whimsical response made Yuri snort at that. That is one way to explain to a child the birds and the bees. Especially for someone as stoic as Jeralt.

Manuela chuckles awkwardly for a bit before mustering up a clear throat, "I just wanted to know since...all of your reproductive organs are male. Aside from the cervix."

"I mean this is the first surgery that has been done to me, so no one needed to break the news. Still, it does not change anything other than the fact that I'm still in agony."

There were more questions than answers. Byleth was always a man of mystery. It explained why he much preferred bathing alone and why he never felt pain crossing his legs so firm. Manuela has several questions needed answered that would even make Hanneman go queasy. Especially since most of his blood was of a terribly uncommon green hue. Sure, this is not uncommon, but the first for the medic. Does it change the Byleth her and the students know now? Heavens no. This infirmary is confidential anyway. And Byleth already does not know much of his family history, and barely his age.

_ "Professor," _ a knock permeated the air,  _ "Shall we come in?" _

No doubt it was Gilbert. Probably something to tend to for the council. "Come in."

Gilbert. Felix. Seteth. Dimitri.

Dimitri.

That no good, donkey fucking bastard that nearly killed him.

What was near him? A bowl? Will a bowl kill him? Shit, he better hope. 

"It's good to see you in—"

Almost like a switch, Byleth just turned feral. The shards of the bowl scattered on Dimitri's face, only resulting in a few scratches. A bloody lip and red lining the bridge of his nose. Other than that, no critical injury. But that never stopped Yuri from restraining Byleth back to the bed with all of his might. Wanting him to stop convulsing and squirming to get up and charge at the men, but to be sure his organs are not in more dire conditions. The room was flipped upside-down, wanting to keep Byleth down as he hurled curses upon the beast. Some of which were not of Fodlan Italic, but of Fhirdiad Nordic– which is arguably more rough around its vulgarity. Gilbert can most definitely understand it as hearing implements of "Ты можешь сосать член своей мертвой мамы к чертуt" nearly sent everyone into hysterics. That is when Manuela gently places her fingers on Byleth's hips, not doing anything but watch as Byleth twitches around and yelps in pain. That's right. His hip was not even healed correctly either.

"Byleth if you make one more aggressive movement, you'll be shitting from a sack," Manuela hisses, "Do you understand me?"

Byleth snarls for one day,  _ one _ day that he should not see Dimitri in this condition, but was still obedient to that the sloshing of his organs felt like actual shit. "What now?"

Gilbert cleared his throat from the quick fiasco, "Though we've managed to repel the Imperial army, we are still divided in terms of our next course of action. Our hands are full with just defenses that second and third waves of attack will be inevitable."

"That is why," Felix pipes up, "we need to contact my father for backup troops. Even if the damn Dukedom is at our throats, there isn't really much to do by our lonesome.

I can only imagine the look on his face when he sees the Boar. Spectacle alone is worth the trip."

"Aside from the Daddy issues, what now?" Byleth comments with a hand of dismissal. Felix, alongside the various other adults, have given the professor a look of exasperated disbelief. Aside from Yuri and Manuela not trying to convey laughter while Dimitri just did a short chortle. It still did not help that they have no sense of empathy for another.

"As of now," Seteth chimes in, "we have sent in a letter to Rodrigue about the situation. He already knows that Dimitri is alive. However, we need to know if we should prioritize the Kingdom or the Empire, so we need your opinion."

Everyone outright  _ knew _ Dimitri's opinion. Him choosing the former would be like seeing the third coming of Sothis. While yes, getting to Lady Rhea will be miles quicker as well as defeating Edelgard. However, with the massive blow from the troops, an impressive 700 troops for a 1200 platoon with demonic beasts and the Death Knight fell down to nearly half. That was only due to a last minute alert by the guards. On top of the limited resources and making sure no one dies of infections and dysentery, one would need all the troops they can get.

"The Empire can wait," Byleth answers.

Not surprising that Dimitri would fold his arms in disappointment, "And to think, you were entrusted with leading the church. If Lady Rhea is being held prisoner, you would think that we would not have time to take back Fhirdiad. Can you deny it?"

The tone– no– his voice alone made Byleth want to wring his neck. Even how true he is at that part. He did not want to lie and make an excuse, knowing that a one-sided philosophical argument will be in place. Dimitri did have a point with it being reckless. Byleth, being petty and annoyed, did not want to admit that. 

"For one, I will  _ not _ give you an excuse to leave the battalion to take Edelgard head on. Because Goddess forbid that you head knee first into death and someone has to heave your corpse for an eight day hike back if you all fuck up. 

For two, having to head to Enbarr with limited troops is a death wish, especially with the territories she's already captured. Having to take back territory one by one is our close step. We take in Rodrigue's troops and take down Edelgard's henchmen from major territory."

"So you'd rather risk Rhea’s life for simple territory?"

"My apologies, Bastard. Did my speech impediment get in the way?"

With every dialogue they say to each other left more deathly glares. The room, any atmosphere they were beside each other, just felt so thick and unbearable to stand near. Almost as if one second of blinking could be another pandemonium.

"Then it's settled," Gilbert groans, "Either way, we still need more numbers for security. However, we need to know who can substitute Byleth at this hour."

"I'll go," Yuri raises his hand. Nevermind the glares of the prince, everyone looked at him with concern.

Dimitri criticized with a drabble of concern, "Do you genuinely think you can have enough seniority to substitute the Professor?"

"Better than the one that fucked up his organs? Yep."

Byleth adds on before the air gets more dense. "That and all my wounds will take three months to heal, even then I must be diligent with overworking myself. Seteth, if possible, be at his side."

Although Felix and Seteth looked calm on the outside, they would take a prayer to kill the man that stood before him. Not even if Dimitri had a sliver of guilt. What heathen would have that much guilt anyway?

Manuela was surprisingly not caught taking a swig of whiskey from her flask when she stepped into the conversation. "It can be three months or more if you still fought on the battlefield. It can be a month and a half once I manage your injuries and get you physical therapy. So if Yuri is our best hope on the battlefield while you coordinate campaigns and troops with Gilbert. I just want no more thrashing around from the two of you."

It was certainly obvious who the "two" were.

"That and with Rodrigue's troops, there should be priests and medics to ease the weight from your shoulders," Seteth adds on.

Manuela can only roll her eyes, "Even with the medics we have, Mercedes and Flayn are the only two aside from me that can even do advanced healing and know proper medicine. All we can do know is to abide by Byleth's commands and pray we don't die."

Byleth did not even comment on her lack of trust, disregarding it to being the alcohol in her system. This was certainly not how they all needed to go ahead with the battle, but it needs to go on. Any postpones for Byleth's sake will send in more waves of troops. Even if Yuri was just pure nepotism, he will  _ definitely _ not give his role to a suicidal bastard.

___

"You've arrived."

Byleth was certainly not kidding around with his Dimitri speaking would make teeth grind. Yuri has dealt with that already, trusting in his instincts that two simple remarks would not hurt his pride. So with his usual attire as he was commanded to make it to the surface by eight in the morning, the three stooges would all be there for him. A bit too early as he had not given himself time to put on makeup. One would assume he looked like a dead rodent.

"So what now?" Yuri ventures.

He was then given a letter, still in the memory of the scroll as he deciphered odd Nordic. Though he can catch onto a few bits of context, Yuri only spoke that of Faerghus Italic– far different from the rough nature of what this speaks. By reading it, the tiny twitches on Yuri’s face conveys a thousand thoughts as he reads. Gilbert…more troops for Garreg Mach. Not leaving, probably the Fraldarius territory. Aillel. Oh Goddess no.

"Can you even re—"

"So the Valley of Torment?" Yuri cuts Dimitri off. Felix nods.

"Once the old man delivers the soldiers, the real war with the Empire begins."

"I see. With that, we mustn't let our guard down with that place. Any movement of Kingdom borders, and the opposing territories shall act swiftly."

"You seem quite knowledgeable of suspicious movement," Dimitri observes.

Yuri rolls the scroll back in to hand over to Felix. "With making deals with corrupt nobles to keep refugees out of trouble in impoverished villages, you can only get so far. I can't recall how many poisons we give to the Imperial troops to buy citizens more time to not get slaughtered."

"If I ever so far to catch a whiff of you sneaking to Imperial spies, your head will sit on a mantle. Understand?"

To most, that alone would make a man turn as pale as a sheet. As for Yuri, it is quite brave and bold of him to mock Dimitri with wiggling hand gestures. That to even make Gilbert gasp. "I have no connection to my bitch made bastard that is Count Rowe, but I can assure you that it's doubtful…though I'll take it to heart."

Even Dimitri knew that was a damn lie. Since he cannot be trusted to lead troops– let alone his battalion, as the one time someone ever dared to oppose him, his throat was slit for the other men to eat– he has to keep his trust towards Yuri. Even if he would love to fuck his corpse out of shape to even step a foot at Enbarr.

"Then we will begin the council tonight before retirement. At fortnight, we march at dawn."

There were no protests about it with everyone dismissing to their respective areas. Yuri and Felix were left to themselves as they had to report the news to Byleth. The sun could barely crack the tallest tower in Garreg Mach and everyone headed to the mess hall for breakfast. Hopefully there would be some food for the two of them, knowing Raphael and Caspar would pig out after training. They do hope that they are treating their wounds. The severe cases take about two months to heal.

"I honestly don't understand why Gilbert is so accepting of that fucking beast," Felix sneers.

This was a usual out of him even in academy days, so Yuri did not seem to mind that much. He does, on the other hand, want to entertain himself with asking.

"I mean with what we have to deal with for about a month, the stink of his manic is starting to get to us. Can't do much about it."

Felix then begins to yammer in a sarcastic tone of voice, "If  _ only _ people listened to me! That Gilbert and my damn father wasn't a damn dalcop– even the Professor– they would have known he was sick in the head."

It took Yuri about three steps to finally halt in what Felix had said. To be fair, Yuri definitely knew that Dimitri was not mentally well. Even going as bad as insomnia and having to be bedridden by order of Byleth. Truly a hissing smoke bomb, but everyone did the best they could to prevent it as much as possible.

But Felix's words are saying a new perspective.

With Yuri poking his lips in utter shock and disbelief, he turns his head to the swordsman. "So…you  _ knew _ that Dimitri was mentally ill?"

"That's right."

"And you wanted people to have awareness?"

"Exactly."

"And your way of doing such was to tell others that he was every inhumane, animalistic name in the book?"

"Was that not clear?"

"It was, but I have seen underdeveloped baboons more sensible to logic."

All Felix did was glare daggers at the trickster before sneering at the thin air. There was no means of faze, already getting a good answer that Yuri was right. That was, and still is, the logic of Felix. Thinking that giving people more "blunt" opinions about the recipient might help them out. And look where it got him. Look where it got Dimitri.

___

Seteth opens the door to Byleth's infirmary, already seeing him bedridden while neck deep in papers. Either books or actual paperwork, tacticians will never sleep regardless of health.

Byleth looks up to see Seteth surfing before taking a seat. Even if he felt like hell (the willow bark chewing and Dagdan turmeric was starting to wear on him), he looked somewhat presentable. Aside from the oversized shirt, his hair was placed neatly in a ponytail and washed of year old oil that textured his skin. Manuela can be a bit of a surprise.

"How are the wounds, Byleth?"

Byleth sighs, mentally exhausted, "They heal slower than my arm. I can move that, but my organs are a bit of an issue."

He will spare Seteth the many bathroom issues that were harrowing.

"I've actually come here to talk to you," Seteth adds on, "rather explain your situation."

Byleth was all ears.

"I'm sure you are aware of what happened before you were missing. That you fell down the cliff and woke up unscathed."

Byleth nods, "I'm also confused about Rhea...in terms of how she made my father immortal."

Seteth looked at him with widened eyes. It was true that he had heard Jeralt had saved a blow for Rhea, but did not know about this. That can only mean….

"Your father…Rhea’s blood is rather gifted. Major Saints crests, such as myself and Flayn, are granted immortality. With such severe injuries are at the cost of a comatose state."

"…I guess it makes sense. You and Flayn are father and daughter, and so was Cichol and Cethleann. I guess I can see that."

The two are rather good with their whispering tone. With such secrets, Byleth can only pinpoint the clues and keep his mouth shut. Unlike most people.

"Flayn had dealt with the same issue as well. After the War of Heroes, my late wife was lost with the rest of the soldiers. Flayn had dealt such horrid wounds that it took a century to heal. Even now, the fear of her sleeping takes tolls on her."

Seteth can only think back to that day, though rather foggy from a millenia, with many jitters of his foot. The shuddering wheeze from Flayn still haunts him to that very day. Cleaning up her wounds proved rather sickly.

Byleth can now pinpoint answers to the dilemma. If Rhea’s blood from Jeralt and Sitri's heart being the Crest of Flames, having green blood may be a general idea. There are still more questions to be asked.

There was one more, "Have you dealt with giving blood to someone? Like Rhea with my father?"

Seteth seemed rather surprised, almost if there was nostalgia hiding in his eyes. Even the curve of his mouth started to twitch. "I remember when before I came to the Monastery– I still lived in the Rhodos Coast in isolation. There was this woman from Duscur…the strongest I had ever met. She even fended off and befriended bears. Ironically, she was running away from an arranged marriage and got attacked by one, and I was the only one close by to take care of her."

"I'm guessing she was immortal as well?"

"I'm not sure," now Seteth had the look of solemn, "due to our situation, we could barely keep contact. I cannot tell whether she survived the tragedy, either."

When Dedue was still alive, incidents during the tragedy were left scarce. Obviously to keep the peace to not bring back such traumatic memories. Even then, it was rare to even bring back days before then. Only to keep the pessimistic attitude that Duscur is a ruin. To be fair, it was: the dead tears bare with still ash. The smell of smoke and blood permeated the air when dealing with the uprising, even if there were barely any casualties. Byleth can understand why such cynical views. At least the flowers were still in bloom.

_ "Professor, may we come in?" _ The loud knock interrupted the atmosphere. Quite a shocker out of the two of them to hear Felix speak with such politeness. Regardless, Byleth still needed to let them in.

"You may enter."

Felix, first in and with the scroll, hands Byleth the message from Rodrigue. As certainly, if Byleth can curse such vulgarity at the prince, then he can understand what must goes on.

"...Aillel. As in the place where we rescued Ingrid from that arranged marriage?"

" _ That _ Aillel." Felix acknowledged.

Even if it was years ago, the blistering heat and geysers worth of pouring lava still permeated the three of them. Now they have to make keep with the Fraldarius soldiers? What is Rodrigue thinking?

"...Yuri," Byleth turns to him, "you sure you're okay with this?"

Yuri shrugs, hiding somewhat of the anxiety, "Though risky, I think we manage it fairly. Can you make it to the war council tonight?"

"I can try. Just if my organs tighten up a bit."

Seteth, along with the two students, stood up and are about to make their leave. Yuri and Seteth already at the door, but Felix took one more glance at Byleth with a mountain of books and trying not to wince from the cramp like pain.

"One more thing, Professor." A risky question, but it is what Felix needs to know about.

"It's about the Boar. We can't bear to look at the thing. Do something about it, will you?"

Both Seteth and Yuri, behind him, stared at Felix with wide eyes. Clearly he had not seen what Dimitri did to Byleth. Either that, or was too ignorant about it. Which he should not as he saw Byleth wanting to attack the beast last week. Even the Professor himself, with the same amount of perplexity in his face, actually scoffed. It was not anything that Felix was used to. Typically, he would deal with the swordsman's temper with a grain of salt.

No one would be surprised about the way he would scoff with such sarcasm.

"Me? Do something? Even after the son of a whore ass mother punctured my fucking stomach and dislocated my arm? Is your brain made from shit, Felix!?"

Even if Felix is receiving colorful insults left and right, he will never back down. "Are you honestly going to give up now, Professor? You said it yourself, unless he fucking kills you, you'd take care—"

"AND LOOK WHAT HAPPENED!? GET OUT!! BEFORE I STICK A LANCE DOWN YOUR ASS, YOU WASTE OF LIFE!!"

Byleth did not even finish his insults before the door closed and Seteth dragged Felix away from the infirmary. The twist in his stomach made the vomit try to escape, only to try and swallow it back down with gaging sobs. And to think, if Sothis did not make him suffer any longer with the torment of his body collapsing on him, dealing with a deformed wreck, his own student can barely even see past his own suffering.

There was no way of making it to the council. Thickening the walls with the pained wails of the mercenary. It was still morning, but it felt like an eternity to hear from anyone. From anything. There was only pain. Misery. Byleth cannot leave it, even if he ever so begged out loud. Take him. Take his life. He is done. He has had enough. Please take him away.

Byleth had another emotion: alone.


	4. Inevitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So happy eventual new year. I hope to finish this damn fic by the end of October. And for those wondering if it gets better with Byleth and Dimitri: yes.... in chapter 12, maybe.
> 
> TW// heavy suicidal thoughts, graphic depictions of self harm

The war council was not at dusk, rather after lunch and it was…an off feeling, to say the least. The students were all here, but in silence. Not even because of the elephant in the room being Dimitri or even Felix. Believe Felix that he tried to make amends with his professor to only get a dagger thrown at him. That was fair, to say the least. Suffice to say, his aiming was off by a hair. Rather it was that everyone knew that Byleth was somehow around to make it into the meeting room. With the help of a wooden crutch and Dorothea trying her damndest to not drop the man, he sat comfortably right next to Gilbert. Of course he had every concern through his face, previously walking into the echoes of constant crying throughout the whole morning.

There have been several announcements by the Knights of Seiros. Too many, in fact. Gilbert had plans to just take a handful of knights and battalions alongside the group, but now this is an all-hands-on-deck situation. The Death Knight suddenly reappearing once more, monster sightings, rumors of the Wandering Beast. It is truly disgusting. Caspar, even with his bone not sticking out of his arm anymore, still was in a cast for another three weeks. As for Marianne, she must be heavily guarded as she was nearly kidnapped by a crest scholar. This was all too stressful for anyone's liking. That is why the council is for those who have lessened wounds (as in, not internally bleeding or their bones are in place).

"Everyone," Gilbert announces, "now that we are in our first step to taking down the Empire. However, I am certain you have heard of the recent sightings from multiple areas. All of which are within Garreg Mach territory. This is unbeknownst to everyone at the last second, so my apologies for the rush."

"That is truly fine," Ingrid reassures, "but we do need to divide ourselves as to where we need to go."

"That is why we must start now. We are decent with rations and have divided the Knights as to which territories they must go."

Byleth, despite the figurative ulcer in his stomach, managed to scribble notes and arrows as to various locations. To Gilbert next to him, it seemed more of chicken scratch in cursive. "The Death Knight is heard to be spotted in the Sealed Forest with monster sightings, so we need mounted and grounded units. As for the mages and brawlers, if you and the other knights wish to stay grounded, keep your guard up.

For the Wandering Beasts, this is probably going to be a mage heavy situation. As of now, there is heavy fog headed northwest, so be sure to have a torch on standby when necessary. So tell me now who's going where?"

It was settled who was going where. Ingrid, Mercedes, Hapi, Constance, Flayn, and Cyril with the Death Knight. Marianne, Annette, Yuri, Balthus, Felix, and Dorothea are with the Wandering Beasts. Both of which sound treacherous. Even if Byleth was not injured, being in two places at once is something he wishes to do. He just hopes that the village man has enough vegetables for the month. Or even the merchants with rice and grains.

"Do you wish for me to protect Marianne?" Dimitri speaks out.

Byleth stops writing on the map. Of course. Of course, Marianne needs to be heavily guarded. Byleth prays no one knows his hands are quivering with impending fear. No one will know what Dimitri might do to her. "By all means. Make sure she's safe in and out of the Monastery."

The meeting was no more than under ten minutes, finally bracing themselves for battle. Gilbert, with the booming command that remained deep within, ordered everyone to move out. Some stood upright from their seats and made haste at the exit. Others, such as Hapi and Dorothea, were more hesitant to leave Byleth on his own. The sight of him looked ghastly. What once stood a young, bold mercenary that led and commanded troops into battle, cutting down enemies with the look of stilled courage; now a man that led damaged from the inside out. Even with his pseudo oblivion on his face did not mask the immense pain in his eyes. Almost that of defeat and loneliness.

"Why are you two still here?" Even his voice felt disembodied.

Dorothea shuffles towards her professor, handing the distant cane to him. "You wouldn't think that we'd leave you here, right? The infirmary is a bit—"

"I can walk down fine, I can understand your concern," Byleth barely broke contact on the other side of the room, "You two must head down to the keep area."

"We understand that, but it can help us sleep at night to know you're at your bed," Hapi grimaced.

Byleth would love to contemplate as to whether or not he would just stay here instead of the dark and bleak infirmary room. Maybe the dock or perhaps the library where something is bright without the need for the oil lamp. If he did do such, then he would waste time for the two women. His legs were able-bodied, albeit stiff from being bedridden. It was just standing upright without wanting to purge his four holes on a hardwood floor that set him on high alert. At least the staff faced some bit of comfort, but Byleth's nerves screamed at him if he ever so happened to stand upright.

It did not take long to escort him into the room. Though for his own good, this room felt like hell. Where misery came to be and no one can hear him scream.

Byleth wishes the two good luck, hiding the solemn in his voice. It seems he can only wear darker shirts or overhauls nowadays, seeing that it hid the blood with only damp patches between his fingers. No one was complaining, really. But sitting on the bed should feel comforting. It should not feel like sitting on top of one's early casket. He picked up the newly broken hand mirror, seeing that the bruise on his cheek seemed to heal poorly, fading into a greenish-yellow hue against his pale skin.

Right. He began punching walls. His cheek. Throwing anything that felt like chump change. This was not him. This was not Byleth. He knew that in himself. The last time he felt this amount of self depreciation was when Jeralt died in his arms. Even then, he could not get out of bed nor eat properly.

At least there was not that much of a threat. He has his students by his side.

He does now, but at what cost?

___

_ "Well done... Finally, this nightmare of a thousand years is at its end." _

Those words. That voice. The shimmer of smoke dancing in the air from his corpse. The last of the monsters are down, dead or without a fight. Marianne can only crouch on her knees, her hair disheveled from the sheer hour and a half of fighting. Her body littered with seared wounds and magical burns on her back. That was only if you see the tattered parts of her uniform. The pain did not matter.

She is free.

Free from the curse that littered her family name for years on end.

Marianne can only cry as many knights scoured for the patrol captain (that happened to be Alois). She could not move, but merely for happiness. For one, she felt happy. A reason to live without a curse looming behind. With fat, wet tears rolling down her face, she can only smile. Amidst the possible casualties and a predictable congestion of patients in the infirmary tents, none can matter as of now. A touch out of character for Marianne, sure, but she can finally be assured of herself.

But when did it get dark and heavy over her?

And what is that stench? A smell so potent and foul that it makes Marianne interrupt her smile with worrisome gags?

Oh, a Blaiddyd crest like stitching—

_ Oh _ , it was Dimitri.

Marianne quickly stood up from her knees, wincing at the blood shooting upwards and her bones popping back in shape. Her hands dug away the ungodly long cloak from her eyes to see the man. Just as dirty and disheveled as she (albeit worse), with his eyepatch nearly coming off of his face. No one would want to question whether or not it was his or another person's blood dripping from his face. Without the cloak, Dimitri looked far bigger and intimidating, especially with the Blutgang in his hands.

"I assume this is yours?" he alleged.

The weight of the sword made Marianne's arms quiver. Perhaps doing exercises with the horses would do the trick. But to dawn on it, almost unscathed by the hands of time. This new power of hers seems too much to bear. Thinking of the many hands that have toyed with it, only to have them cursed into beasts. The men with Maurice's crest before her to use this for malicious deeds. A shiver ran cold down her spine.

"Why…why must I keep living?" Marianne sniffles, "when there are so many people who deserve more in life than I. And the Goddess willed me to live…for what?"

"That is not up to me to know."

Marianne gazed at Dimitri's face, daring to even look at his eye. Soulless, without a shred of empathy for the living. A man declared a beast, to give possessions to a girl in need would sound bizarre. Despite the countless debates in her head, nothing can change that he was what Byleth and Felix calls him. A lot of names, too dehumanizing to be benevolent.

Dimitri crosses his arms to gaze at the foggy sky, "I do my part for the salvation of the dead. That is my only reason to live, even if I die. And even if I use your body for their needs down to the tissue and bone."

A sentence like that is left ambiguous as to if it is reassuring or threatening. It did leave Marianne frozen with tears still dripping down her face.

"If you, standing on your feet is enough for your cause, then you can walk until the skin peels off. Giving up with a lack of atonement is a disgrace, even for yourself."

Before Marianne even had a word to say, Dimitri already turned his heel to the other troops. At least it ended without her dead or violated, but at a high note at best. Despite the choice of wording, he did have a point. And clutching onto his cloak, nearly tripping from his absurdly long size, the silhouette of Dimitri walking forward almost gave Marianne comfort. The pelt and spiked shoulder pads were prominent, and his hair was greasy and matted.

Perhaps a more chaotic form of the Goddess's children.

But by the Saints, do the maids need to clean this cloak. Marianne just now finds the bloody chunk patches on the Faerghus insignia. Is this even close to desecration?

___

Nightfall has soon to come. Every last one of the reports proved successful. The Death Knight has now hurried away from the Monastery, but at the cost of a few casualties. Thankfully, the students sustained non-lethal bruising and the deaths were low (say about 70 on both sides). That still did not help the fact that Gilbert and Byleth still needed to know who is physically capable of handling Aillel at a short notice. A good chunk of the soldiers sustained several week long fractures and internal injuries are no joke. Then again, they would have to double down as just one extensive day means the prince leaves the Monastery in a heartbeat.

Marianne and Constance helped out with the healing alongside Mercedes, only proving how tiring this medic issue can be. The infirmary was full and there had to be tents in the upper parts of Abyss. Though many have complained about such, at the very least stuck up, the ultimatum was to heal there or suffer from the last week of the Ethereal Moon. Unless you were an idiot, a lot have just swallowed their pride. At least many are going to makeshift seminars on how to suture a wound or look for internal bruising, but you can only do so much with amateur "doctors".

"Seriously, how long has it been since Dimitri showered?" Constance gagged.

Marianne sighs, feeling as if no matter how many washes, you can never get the putrid stench out of the fabric.

The three girls were ready to head on to their respective areas after the last patient. Even with full stomachs, the war rations did not really help all that much. Whilst the two friends stayed longer to catch up, Marianne went back over to the infirmary area where Byleth resided in. She had barely enough time to see him again, so to see that they have all survived that outcome would be a relief. At least for two seconds.

Two knocks echoed the halls before hearing a "come in" from the other side. There stood Byleth leaned back to adjust his stomach. Perhaps reading some book on tacticians, but it would not be the case with the person beside him. It was a boy, to Marianne's knowledge, coddled in the giant blanket they both shared. He looked…similar to Dimitri. Just with a softer face.

"You're alive," Byleth smiles. Marianne gave the same energy back as she discarded the cape neatly on the coat rack. Surprisingly, it did not make him grimace at the look of it.

"I have a few gashes," Marianne hikes up her dress skirt, revealing the bandaged wound above her ankle, "but they can be manageable. Might not be manageable enough for the Valley of Torment."

"You should not worry. Gilbert and I are still trying to figure out who to take on that route. But you should still rest."

The two of them were at their most unorthodox looks. No one has ever seen Marianne with her hair all the way down with no braid and bright clothing. As for Byleth, no one has seen him with long, untrimmed hair with a sickly face. The girl sat down at the edge of the bed, cautious of the sleeping boy. Despite having old scars, he looked to have such soft skin under his golden locks, sleeping soundly beside the two.

"This is my son, Everett. I mentored him five years ago. When he heard that I was alive this morning, I wanted to take him under my wing."

Marianne's eyes grew at the news, not knowing what even entailed with the two. Byleth was somewhat of a father figure, maybe, to the orphans when Dimitri and him trained in the academy days. If anything, everyone saw him as an older brother of sorts.

Everett squirms in his place, whimpering in what seemed like fear until Byleth caressed his shoulder back to serenity. "He is hard of hearing, so alerting him like this keeps him calm."

"He looks like a joy to be around."

"He truly is." The look on Byleth's face. Almost as if it were his flesh and blood. It reminded her of when Jeralt was alive, when Marianne saw him in and out of battle drills, he had that same look of his when watching the boy teach his students. Even seminars when they taught side by side. If only Marianne's own father was often like that. To look at their child with such joy and pride. It was almost jealousy.

But something else caught her eye. And it did not take Byleth long enough to notice either. There were scars on his wrist. And bruises on his knuckles that made one look incorrect. The wave of sadness tore through Byleth once more, seeing the bitter emptiness in his eyes. Isolation in this room must be killing him so. Really, everyone all knew why. It was not fair. To see a well respected teacher go down so far.

"I had the same issue too."

Marianne rolled up a bit of her sleeve to see a few scars on her arm as well. It was no surprise that Marianne was deeply depressed. However, most have chalked down to just mental health, not so much as this severity. Byleth could guess that was why she wore such long sleeve outfits.

"I," Marianne begins, "somewhat stopped…it gets difficult to even get a month's worth of not doing these things. It has gotten better, now that I have found you and the rest of the class."

Byleth nearly found himself tearing up, "You have found a reason for the cause, right?"

"Yes…kind of. I would always beg for forgiveness to the Goddess. I did not realize that I wanted to die and be beside her. Because I felt like such a burden. Now I—" tears burned against Marianne's face, somewhat happy of the cause.

"I fear the thought of dying. I want to be with you and my friends."

She can hear light, albeit pained, groans before feeling a warm embrace around her. The sniffles in the room grew soft and prominent as they held each other. Almost an evil being that would curse them if they left their side. That would be war. That would be the beast and those who are cowardly to attest to his attitude. That would be nearly being kidnapped by nefarious crest scholars. That would be everything. But death is not a willing option. Not now, at least.

"Professor…we'll be by your side. Please understand," the croaking in her voice only proved more tears. "We do not want you to give up yet."

Those words. He would want to carry until the bitter end. At this point, it is to bear through this war or die trying. Who knows how long this might last? Who knows how long Byleth would have to deal with the abuse? Another month? A year? A decade? Those options made him curl into a ball until he gagged. It was still painful to even lean forward or do anything. Even if the healing was fast– there was no proof of a new potential rupture– it still hurt. That is fine. Even if it means to feel something when the world seemed to stand still.

"Dad?"

Two looked at the woken boy. Stirred from his slumber, but still held a weary face for Byleth. They both knew he was not supposed to sit like that.

But the elephant in the room still stands, "This is Marianne, Everett." He can still remember the hand signals he was taught. And since the Fodlan alphabet is not within Byleth's palms, calling Marianne was almost similar to "grace" in a sense.

Two two exchanged silent hellos and Everett knew in the back of his brain that it was certainly not a new mom. Not that he anticipates for one.

"Why are you crying?" Everett signs. His hand reached out to touch Byleth's cheek to wipe off tears. The sight of his own father broken down like this felt painful to watch.

Byleth replies, "My friend is alive. She is safe from the monsters."

Marianne can watch and slightly interact in awe at how they communicate to each other. And looking at Everett's face, it was almost similar to Dimitri. Aside from his right eye being brown, it was almost as if they were brothers. Maybe a way to cope with disturbing grief, but at least it was through a healthy way. To see Byleth talk to this boy, calling him his son with hope in his tone. It seemed comforting.

_____

The cathedral was empty aside from a cerberus incarnate. Except the dead do not wish to leave. They can only feast upon the head of those who lived.

It feels like Dimitri's new home. His new room. That he can feel somewhat relieved that someone watches over his nightmares. But does the Goddess even so much as interfere? The only sleep that felt long was five hours. Even then it was not a full sleep. There were moments– five minutes, give or take– where Dimitri was awake. But was he really? It felt more catatonic at the least rather than wake. The hallucinations took forth, never giving him much rest. Not when the  _ bitch _ is still alive. Killing more of the weak. Only to thrive off on misery and hatred so the dead can pick on him.

And he is stuck in the fucking cathedral floor almost midnight. But where else would he go?

He can hear footsteps coming forth. At this point, in his suspended state, he can only wish it was the Goddess to take him away. So he would not have to hear more of the cries beckoning to pile up more bodies to appease them. But would the Goddess even take such a man? A depraved enemy of humanity?

"Dimitri?"

That voice. And the prudent clothing that matched her skin and hair. It was Mercedes. But…why is she holding a giant scythe?

"If it is to take me down, so be it." Mercedes did not feel right to be looking down at him like this. What was one her good friend that was shy and honorable is now a lowest scum of dirt. Not even putting up a fight or to threaten her. Just…almost accepting to die. But she still needed to stand her ground.

"There is no need. We still need you alive for our battle against the Empire."

Right. That was one of the reasons Dimitri still lived to see tomorrow. Mercedes left the scythe leaning on a pew, making sure it was not damaged more. The burlap sack held in her hands contained chopped fruits and milk for Dimitri to eat and a vial of vulnerary with cotton balls. The blood seemed to dry up after the skirmish, but she knew that there would be infections and gangrene up the roof. How he survived five years of wounds that should have killed him is astounding.

She opens the cork to lubricate the cotton in her hands, some dripping on her skin. The devastating sounds when Dimitri felt the medicine sear into his wounds. Almost akin to him painfully dying. An injured animal, it may seem. If one was brave enough to look at, then a few drops of tears tried to escape for the first in years. This felt fearful, with trying to coo from his burns with gentle caresses. That did not mean Mercedes had no means of her bones feeling like wanting to escape when Dimitri so much as flinched. One wrong action would kill her, and she knew that. Even walking across the bridge felt like terror of the inevitable. But she would rather go down a saint than an enemy.

"Goddess," Mercedes whispers, tremulous, "you have given the wicked a chance of peace. That you have given them salvation in your holy land, no matter the cost. For it is the cost of forgiveness to let them see their ways."

Drops of tears fell onto Dimitri's eyepatch, feeling the heavy weight of burden that burns her face. The burning feeling subdued, numbed by the look of still sadness in Mercedes' face. Eyes puffy but tired. Same as it always had been these few weeks. Almost like clockwork to heal broken bones and suture wounds. But it is what she wanted to do on her own will. But seeing her friend like this poured too much weight.

There was one more item in her bag. Another vial, but of a mix of herbs. Ones that were to aid in medically induced comas. It was not enough to make a man as large as Dimitri to die, nor enough to have him sleep for unnecessary times where he needed nutrients. It is only for the few hours that he had lost.

But Dimitri does not know that. If anything, he thought it was poison. It almost made him giddy to embrace death. To obey Mercedes with sitting him upright.

With a careful sip, she reached for the fruits for him to eat. Only mere apples and a noa, but Dimitri ate every last piece. Like a stray animal begging for scraps. It still had not changed such grotesque habits of his for a nobleman.

"Give it fifteen minutes, okay?" Mercedes whispers.

Dimitri nods, smiling with glee. This may be his ticket to nirvana. A chance at peace. He just needs to be patient.

He did not question why she left the scythe of all things to him when she left. Nor why she would help at all. Why she was being kind to such a lowly behemoth.

The nirvana was fun while it lasted, seeing the sun glowing the dust from the cathedral stained glass. He did not die. He can hear the voices once more. The people around him walking over his still body. And while it hurt, akin to betrayal, Dimitri was not mad at Mercedes.

In fact, when was the last time he had ever slept so soundly?


	5. Such is War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is my longest chapter as of now. So much so that I had to condense it. Enjoy your scraps for the next 3 months, idk.
> 
> TW// Descriptions of self harm scars and bruising

The Abysskeeper gave everyone the time. It was five in the morning. Everything is settled before heading up the Valley of Torment. Many have recommended packing up enough food in case of dehydration and enough mages to keep cool in the blistering heat. Many argue if one should be dressing heavy or not. The Guardian Moon blizzard was soon to arrive in four days time, so they need to be in crates and storage boxes. Hopefully Alliance winters are not as reputable as Faerghus.

Yuri scribbled out one last name into the notebook. Albert Reinhardt, one of the merchants for weaponry. Stress of war has gotten the worst of everyone. For that man, he was far too young to just die of sudden causes. Not someone that Yuri would call close, but one that made his day merry in a city without sunlight. The old man can barely even look at anyone with the amount of grief they hold. No one can wish this amount of suffering on their hated nemesis.

"Is it the day I see the sun again?" Yuri looks over at the person that voice came from. Right, one of the volunteer mages from the Duscur Infantry. If anyone can argue one thing, it is that this one is much too young to fight despite her absurdly tall height. No matter if Yuri’s classmates were younger than her doing the same thing. Shaya, that was her name. The little bookworm in the dark library with a book between her nose and an Almyran mother that will blind a man if you get too close. That can somewhat explain her certainly dark, prudent clothing all the way to her boots. Not to mention the wrap around her hair. She is a kid, so it made sense to cover herself up.

"Not really, we're actually gonna see hell for the first time. So I'd recommend you ring your mother up for lighter clothing quickly."

"Aillel right? I have some nylon and you would have to deal with the rayon wrinkles."

"That's fine. We prefer to be kept alive and functioning than in style."

"Tell that to my mother."

Yuri chuckles as Shaya runs into the room of abandoned weaponry. There was no need for them, but she would always have them for safety measures. No matter how clumsy she can get with them. It had only been two battles as of now, this being her third one, and Yuri would be found beheaded before her name would be in the notebook. Too much of a sweet soul to do any of that.

"Alright. We leave in a half-hour. Get your things and stuff your face for some energy. Aillel will be about five days to head there."

"Oh boy. I'll pack generously—"

"Shaya!"

Now there was another person sprinting down the corridors. It was Everett in his usual attire. His rough tunic and hoodie with moose fur sewn crudely. Crouching on his knees for a grasp of air as he holds something carefully in his arms. The basket of the day was something they both look forward to. Food, medicine, garments, perhaps things for the children to make in their past time with living in this decrepit world. Apparently this was medicine for today.

"You almost forgot! Mrs. Khadija had me looking for you." The boy says in a slew of his words. It was a box of Duscur medicine that Shaya's sister used to carry. Now that she does not know the girls whereabouts, trying to create more and more of these supplements is what kept anyone in the battalions alive. That is if they wished to be near her, even unto death.

Shaya took the box with a smile on her face. "I'll keep it in good faith."

"While you're at it, Everett," Yuri signs, "check on your father. See if he still needs recovering."

"I'm on it! And I wish you two luck on your mission!"

With that, Everett was now past the two and through the corridors to the surface. Yuri looked over at Shaya, still looking at where the boy ran off with fondness, tightly holding the box of sickly sweet herbs and other experimental medicines. Hopefully Aillel does not affect them so harshly.

___

_ "Alright. You're dismissed." _

_ Everett is winded by this mercenary. No matter how many tries to hit and parry, Byleth will find an opening attack. Even if Dimitri insists that he takes it easy with the orphans, especially the ones not reaching adolescence, Byleth still will add his own twist to teaching swordsmanship. Though he will be reminded that just because he was taught at a young age in how to survive by the captain of the Knights of Seiros, that does not mean he can be harsh on the children. With this little tike, things were different. _

_ He is soon to celebrate his 10th birthday. One would wish for a pegasus or a suit of armor. A lot wished for a family and food to eat. Everett only wanted to spar with Byleth. Nothing more as he had lunch and clothes. (That is if you did not count Byleth sneaking a few snacks of fruit for him to have) Byleth saw him as a tiny student to the Blue Lions. If he ever had a daycare, he would be right on par with Dimitri. Almost like having an older brother of his own. Someone that talked to him as a human instead of a poor boy with a hearing defect. Someone that showed him what outside was like when the summer had shown light. One of the few adults that cared for his hearing issue and would teach Byleth how to communicate through hands. He only wanted to be with Byleth for his birthday. _

_ And here he is sitting on the ground as Byleth polishes his training sword. _

_ "Aww, is there ever gonna be a day where I defeat you, Mr. Eisner?" Everett pouts. _

_ Byleth looks over at the boy and has a face as if he is thinking it out. "Not now, it looks like." _

_ Little legs peddle-kicked the air in frustration. That makes at least 0-12 in their time interacting with each other. If anything, Byleth is amused by how determined he is to get up and fight. And no other kid can even hold a giant training sword with no sweat. Everett can just hold it properly and swing it with every given might possible. It just might break at the wrong hands. _

_ "Though," Byleth makes the boy sit up to read his lips, "you could beat up monsters and bandits if you know how to fight properly." _

_ "When's that?" _

_Byleth puts his hand over his head,_ _"When you're taller than me."_

_ Everett groans again, much to Byleth's amusement. The Abysskeeper gave the time: almost supper for the surface dwellers. That time gives Byleth a sense of sadness knowing that he has to leave Everett again. Lesson plans and church duties do not task themselves. But he can only wish to bring the boy up to the surface. To take him to the markets for him to make clothes. To experience rich people food like high grade loaches and beef. So many opportunities to give this boy in such a short amount of time. It is almost heart-wrenching. _

_ "Everett," Byleth asks, "Do you want anything for your birthday? Food? Sewing materials? Clothes?" _

_ Everett twiddled with his fingers at that request. Orphans may want a lot, but can only ask for so little. "If you could be like my dad. Maybe a big brother to me?" _

_ For once, Everett sees a wide-eyed expression on Byleth's face. The man could barely even handle his own class, let alone have a son. At the same time, no one could think Jeralt would have an objection to raise a new son of sorts. _

_ Only time could tell on that request, but Byleth will never say no. "In a few years, once I get to learn for myself." _

Byleth could argue that he did not have that much time; to even raise an adolescent at such a short notice. A promise is a promise, however. He cannot stomach the idea of Everett waiting year after year for a wish he may never get. That could have happened with a lack of resiliency. Now would Byleth regret his decision? Absolutely not.

Everett now gazes at Byleth from the other side of the room, sleeping away the injuries and midmorning breakfast as many had taken off for Aillel. If memory serves correctly, Gilbert predicted a mere two hundred: good enough for security measures but not a lot for an all-out army. Books were neatly set beside the nightstand and within arms each of Byleth to prevent strain. From afar, it was nothing more than a sleepy tactician on the road for healing. But it sickens Everett's stomach to see the many bruises and cuts Byleth is enduring. The scarring on his stomach is ghastly, healing proper but never a good sight to glimmer upon. The tableside consists of medicines to even subdue him mentally and physically. And to top off the myriad of obscenity was the small patch of hair missing from his scalp. Even putting it into a ponytail seemed suspicious.

This was not the Byleth that Everett looked up to. Five years of being missing has changed him drastically– no– both of them. Everett was still that boy that itches to fight his newfound father to a duel. Training night and day with the battalions of Abyss. That one day he might surpass the Ashen Demon himself. But what can you do now that the demon is dealing with his own?

This was Blaiddyd's curse. First Lambert dead and beheaded, then Rufus used, abused, and assassinated, now Dimitri tearing open the one thing that mattered to him most. No. He must break this cycle of torment. He is not a monster that can break human skulls. He will never hurt the ones he loves the most. He can never murder a single soul.

Not now and not again.

___

"I knew it! You  _ were _ an Imperial spy!"

To say that Yuri was having a stifling time at Aillel was a pretty big fucking understatement. Never mind that barely anyone could contain Dimitri from ripping Yuri a new orifice. And fuck trying to fight a burly man that could kill eighty men, the trickster can only warp his way out of arms reach.

"Dimitri stop!" Annette cried out, "You can't kill Yuri in this situation!"

"This bastard sold out our lives! I will end it quicker if he holds still!"

Yuri once again warps out of arm's reach. Closely to the back of the group behind Hapi's horse. He has narrowly escaped murder countless times but this just makes his skin crawl.

Constance casts a small cloud of lightning from her hands as she hovers down, staring daggers into Dimitri's to prevent more havoc. "I would wish that you  _ would _ lay a hand on our friends at this time of battle! We need to focus on the Gray Lions!"

"She's right," Gilbert loosens his grip from Dimitri's shoulders, "we have no choice but to fight. Everyone, move out!"

There is no choice other than to battle. Hesitancy is on the mind, trying to quickly decide whether what they are standing on is igneous ground. The hot lava bursts through the air, hitting some unlucky soldiers from both ends. Some so bad that the skin is dripping off. They all cannot enter the active magma at once. They all have light gear for these blistering conditions.

Did it stop any of them? No.

Armored knights and winged units braced on the front lines, barely making out what is going on in the midst of a sea of red. Enemies that did happen to cross the line did their damndest to suppress the church soldiers. Felix made a few casualties already, but still has to be light on his feet and quick in vision. Making harrowing escapes from the rain of lava below his feet. Nevermind the flowing river of cooling yet still fresh pile of death. A lot of which are a wrestle of which one will fall first. Sylvain and Hapi can only do so much with other cavalry units. The metal hooves can only do so much on the horses that they start to bleat in agony. Some panicking by the sight of spurting lava that it gets chaotic. Anything to not dive into the pool of red.

Dimitri will have one priority on the mind. The voices in his head roar like a coliseum of pillaged men for entertainment as he throws enemy soldiers to their doom. The lava melts the armor by just a tad. Some had already reached to the skin.  _ Only but a minor burn _ , Dimitri thinks. But he still needs to look for Rodrigue. It is hard to even do such with the ground erupting at every corner around him. The steam is already a pain as is. But can he even remember what that man looked like? Can Rodrigue even remember the boy he raised out of the hellscape that took his father?

"Your Highness!"

Dimitri barely had any time to react before he saw his surroundings spin around in a hectic frenzy. Orange, red hues filled his vision that it made him nauseous. But…he was nowhere near the area he was standing on. In fact, it had crumbled within the boiling magma under it. Dammit, he needs to be more aware. If he could even see from this perspective, it could benefit the cause. But who was that? And who is the dark bishop in front of him?

"The allied troops! Turn your head!"

It was true, some had already fled to the left near safe ground. No one would blame them. Some had done the dirty work of pillaging what the cavalry units cannot go near and where the mages had gone to weaken the flying units. And Rodrigue. There he was tall and proud on his prominent white horse.

"Your Highness!" Rodrigue roars out, "we will find Lord Gwendall. Retreat back to the forest!"

Both Dimitri and the dark bishop stood on that declaration and made a run for it. Anyone that stood in their way was met with a swarm of death itself. How the soldiers bled and devoid their organs through their armor is something Dimitri never thought he would see. The souls of the damned were true; some had already possessed their flesh and meaning, almost as if it was forced suicide. It was surreal to even see this. It could be hallucinations. This could be a child of the Goddess at work.

And Yuri. He spat vitriol to the burning ground as he bled through his skin. The general of the man that sold him out. That ruined every sense of childhood he had. The lord he would never want to see within the face of earth.

And he stands there, dismounted from his mangled horse as he roars a hardy laugh. With a mighty axe in his hand and an ego that has blown past the brink of humbleness.

"So. You've chosen to turn your blade against the count. Heh. Never thought I see the day, mongrel!"

Yuri dodges the blow beside him. A blow that could have sliced him into two. Spurting bubbles from the ground and heating the iron itself. This man was fast for an armored knight, evading his fire spells even. His lungs were in panic, holding onto what left of breath possible. His knees were shaking to the core, but needs to stay alert. Any slip could cost his life

"And yet you are seeing it, aren't you? Say what you will. I know your true feelings for me." Yuri blocks a melee punch with his shield, effectively warping at a good distance. "Sure you watched my back by order of the count. But you cared too!" Another missed fire spell. "You were the only who treated me as an equal!"

"That is all in the past. This is no time for misplaced sentimentality. I must do what I came here to do."

Here he was. Battling what was once a man Yuri looked up to in the past. Soiled into a puppet for the lord that sold everyone out. Trying to kill the boy who could have fought alongside him. There was no way to change him after the influence of Imperial rule. His found family is gone. Diminished in the eternal flames. There was no home to go back to.

There will be no home for Gwendall to go back to.

By a hair, the axe misses. Into the pool of lava it goes. What could have been a calculated attempt has gone south. The looks upon the general's eyes proved the hypothesis. That was his one chance. And Yuri gleamed with a smile. His one chance to end the reign of terror.

He does not aim for Gwendall this time. Now lightning strikes at the ground he stands on. The lava wastes no time to erupt from the ground as he screams in his wake. Distracted and tries to catch his footing. But not enough to notice that Yuri was not in front of him anymore. He glows from the lava beside the two, shoving the general with all his might down in a pool of liquid flames.

The mighty has finally fallen, shuddering and twitching violently at the immense pain of his head searing into boiling hot red. All at the entertainment of Yuri to watch with the sick and twisted grin on his face. One of which the king had barely missed in his escape.

"Your land burns with me, Lord Gwendall. May the Goddess guide your way to hell."

It almost seemed like time had passed by, leaving behind one more enemy of his humanity. They all need to retreat. Quickly as Lord Rodrigue gallops with his soldiers in toe.

___

It is already nightfall since the ambush. One could not count how many have either been killed by the church soldiers or just by natural disaster. Nevermind the mass amount of casualties– nearly a quarter of the soldiers missing. And no one will dare to pick them up from the blazing inferno. It is sickly comforting that there were a great handful of soldiers to compensate for the losses. A good thousand with food and materials for not only troops but for Garreg Mach as a whole. It is a blessing that there are enough rations for them and the kingdom.

Everyone has set up camp for the night, somewhat dreading the next four or so days to get back to base. A meet up with the troop leaders is much necessary as the rest of the army and battalions do their part for the night. Sweaty, battered and bloody was an understatement for everyone. Even if there were chills for the upcoming blizzard, everyone would rather cool their aggressively warm bodies than suffer from heat exhaustion.

"Lord Rodrigue," Gilbert bows, "it is with great thanks that you have come on time to aid us in that battle."

Rodrigue waves it off with a sense of regalia. "There is no need for formality. It is much necessary that we would help in those conditions. With the amount of troops you have had, it is safe to say that you were not expecting an attack."

"We were not, to say the least. Though I have sent an urgent message back in regards to whether or not there was a spy within Garreg Mach grounds. I am confident that Seteth and Byleth will get the message before we get there."

Yuri and Dimitri were a part of this discussion. Of course with the smaller man trying to hide his lack of comfort as the prince stares death into his skull.

"I do not believe we have met," Rodrigue turns to Yuri, "especially since you have dealt the finishing blow to Lord Gwendall. Were you affiliated with House Rowe by any means?"

Yuri crosses his arms and scowls at the name of that man. "Not ever since I cut ties at my time at Garreg Mach. If anything, I am the last person that knows what goes on with him."

"So how do you go about explaining who told the Dukedom soldiers?"

Yuri swings his head with a means of annoyance, "Who else keeps Abyss afloat now that Aelfric is dead?"

That was a name they had not heard in years. Yuri did make a point, however. With trying to keep the citizens of Abyss at bay while trying to not ignite turf wars with other dangerous gangs, it is quite doubtful that he would simply run to the surface and snitch at broad daylight. If the church knights would even  _ let _ him surface at ease. The blame has now simmered, seeing Dimitri scrunching his face is frustration is all the relief needed.

"We will deal with that once we head back to Garreg Mach," Rodrigue declares, "All that matters is that I am glad to know that you are okay, Dimitri."

Hearing his actual name. Dimitri. It is the first in years. To hear his name said that felt like his humanity is slipping back into toe.

"So you knew as well that His Highness was still alive?" Gilbert inquired.

Rodrigue stood his chin up high. "Absolutely. I never believed a word out of Cornelia's mouth that he had killed King Rufus, nor if he was dead. If anything, it was nothing short of genius that she has reorganized the troops and sent them to hunt me down. She has controlled this siege all along."

"If anything, I could have killed that fucker years ago."

It still blows everyone aback to even hear such language out of this man's mouth. They should be accustomed to his words already.

Rodrigue clears his throat, "Your Highness, if I may speak freely on behalf of Fhirdiad. We are in a terrible situation as many citizens starve in the streets and rebellions are endless. We need to route to the capital before our embark on Enbarr—"

"Absolutely not."

The air was quite silent at that declaration.

"Look, I understand that you want to take down the Emperor as quickly as possible. We  _ all _ want that so much that it kills us. But what matters most now? The dead or the li—"

"I dare you to finish that sentence."

Yuri tightens the bridge between his nose as he prepares for another bloodbath to happen before his eyes. Gilbert the same, his hand twitching at the sword across his belt sheath.

"Dimitri, you will hear me out!"

"Are you asking me and the dead to  _ forgive _ the bitch?"

Rodrigue furrows his brows in disgust at what he is dealing with. And to think he thought Felix was a handful to maintain within the family.

"If you had heard correctly, that is not the case. I am asking you to prioritize the Kingdom before the Empire. And I am sure your father would advise the same."

Dimitri crosses his arms, nails picking at the searing burns from Aillel from his lack of patience. "Do not dare put words in the mouths of the dead. They are your words alone, even if you borrow their lips."

Yuri made the quickest excuse to not laugh uncontrollably by sneezing into his tunic. Anything to hide the mere attempts of laughing all the way out of the tent amongst the hypocrisy spewing from the beast. This is utterly ridiculous. 

"As we waste time with idle chatter, father continues to suffer with lingering regret and hatred. Until I offer the bastard witch's head, his suffering continues!"

Rodrigue barely even had time to think before Gilbert and Yuri pulled out their weapons against the prince. Dimitri was a step away from doing something heinous to the man that raised him. Not even he was comprehending that Gilbert, of all people, would raise a sword at him.

"You might as well kill me quickly."

"Just back away from him, Dimitri," Gilbert hissed, "and let him speak."

Rodrigue sighs at this stifling, tense air that should have been a peaceful negotiation. Anything to make this quick and painless on all sides.

"...you are my king– our king. Wherever you go, we will follow. However…"

Yuri and Gilbert slowly blink at that statement as realization dawns on them. They all have to march to Enbarr. A decision that was strongly against by Byleth's ruling.

"There are those that take up their sword in hand in the name of revenge. Yet along the way they lose their strength and composure to follow through. You would do well to keep that in mind."

He was not wrong. As the Shield of Faerghus, he has seen countless men and soldiers dead at the hands of selfish needs. A high risk with little to no value in the end. A statement that made Dimitri go silent. Not one argue back at him. Because it was the truth.

However, Yuri needs to interject one last time. "Now if  _ I _ may speak freely, Lord Rodrigue. The prince here is obviously unfit in the head to be making a counterplan that goes against Byleth's plan. Second, I was appointed by him to oversee any decision—"

"Which is nepotism," Dimitri asserted.

Yuri barks back with the obvious look of annoyance, "So you having the final say isn't nepotism eith—"

"That is enough, you two!" Gilbert snaps. Again, a hair away from a stroke. "But Yuri has a point. We would need to negotiate with Byleth and Seteth about what we should do next. We do need to be diligent with this decision at hand with him."

By diligence, Gilbert obviously means that Byleth will want to skin them all alive.

At last the meeting is over. Yuri is off to wherever the rest of the gang were and Dimitri was obviously off to his lonesome. To say that people watching is more of a favorite pastime than heavy training is unlike him at all. Just to distract him from the voices in his head and watch how many adapt to these conditions. To not know if this might be their last night alive. If they are trying to go with the flow of things. Battalions from Abyss especially, with most of them being foreigners. Seeing them pray closed off to the other troops. Making meals on their own pact. He remembers that Dedue, when he was alive, would always be offered to sit with the Duscur Infantry as they ate what was left of their culture and spoke their native tongue. To step back and remember the days where he slept bitter winter nights in abandoned churches with other homeless people in the slums. It was all you could do to pass the time.

"Your Highness."

That voice almost is akin to Dedue. Oh how he longs to hear his voice again. But it was not that. A lot more feminine and with an accent, but familiar. Dimitri took one good look, seeing that it was the dark bishop from Aillel, just without the mask. A round, tan skinned face and pale red eyes that were as deadpan as Byleth's. And it looks as if she was holding things. She is: a box and a wooden bowl of a rice dish.

"What do you want?"

"I am a medic. I am certain you did not see anyone about your wounds."

"They are fine. Move along."

"No, I will not do that. And your injuries look revolting."

He had no reason to back talk to a kid, but she is quite bold for someone to talk to the king so crass yet so formal.

"My name is Shaya," she says as she crouches to Dimitri's level. The bowl was placed to the right of Dimitri and the box beside his leg. There was no hiding the molten areas on his armor, but cannot do anything with it in the way. By looking at it, it is not a skin rotting severe, but will leave a mark.

"If you do not mind, could you remove the top part of your armor? I need to get to skin without obstruction."

Not even the look on his face would penetrate any sense of fear. If anything, it resembled annoyed patience. Dimitri gives in, carefully unbuckling his armor to not hit the bowl or Shaya. Starting with the shoulder pads, then the elbow pads, gauntlets, sleeves, and pelt. By the time the chestplate was the only thing left, he noticed that she was putting on a cloth over her nose.

Dimitri grimaced, "I get it. I smell that of a wild beast."

Shaya perks up in surprise, "Well that, but I cannot have bacteria in your wounds. I have seen too many skin peeled to the bone."

Oh, that is why. Aillel must have taken a hard toll on the medics.

"Alright, I will sanitize my hands first. Be aware that this will burn and I need to redress this wound every day until we are home."

This situation alone is uncomfortable. Dimitri does not remember the last time he has seen his body; let alone if he had seen every injury. All bruises, old and new, akin to a child played with paint on his skin. It does not help that Dimitri is fair skinned, making the bruising even more prominent. Sickly acrid, too many injury scars and large purple bruises from amateur healing.

Shaya did not seem to care at all. Only taking Dimitri's forearm with the biggest burn first and dabbling an ointment soaked cloth on it. Like being back at the cathedral with Mercedes, he winces and shudders at the creeping searing of his injuries. The lava must have blocked his pain at that point. The free hand can only grasp at air for purchase, aware that he cannot break anything else. It hurts so much but it feels nice to finally treat his wounds.

"Excuse me, young lady?" Rodrigue's voice boomed from the camp area.

Without looking away, Shaya sighs, "I am a medic, Sir."

"I understand. I just wish to see Dimitri's injuries." What is this? A freak show?

Why are there people taking in his poorly maintained bruising.

"Are they serious?"

"No. Just a simple cleaning and covering wounds. However, he will need new armor. That place burned holes that it may expose him again."

"Ah, no need then. I already have his new armor. Hopefully we won't head back to Aillel for this to happen again."

Dimitri looks up from his wound dressing at Rodrigue again for a closer look.

Areadbhar. The Hero's Relic of his late father. He…Rodrigue can just simply carry that? Without the need for a compatible crest?

Dimitri can only chuckle at the absurdity, "Must have cost you your life to retrieve that."

"Indeed. I will not go down without a fight, however."

His arm was let go, now seeing a bandage gauze around it. The smell…honey and ginger?

"I would recommend," Shaya interjects, "that you sleep with a tarp or a high rise cot. Something to cover it maybe– anything to not have bugs in it."

Rodrigue cringes at that thought, "Are there no other alternatives? Does healing magic work?"

"It does, which is what the ointment is used with. But he still has to deal with the burning and scarring, which you can only do so much."

"That is fine," Dimitri waves off. Perhaps this entire encounter was overwhelming him, but he would much prefer to be alone as soon as possible. His rice dish was getting cold anyway.

But he still has one more thing to say.

"Thank you…my friend."


End file.
